


Promise

by 0KKULTiC



Series: We Would Be Savage [4]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Captain!Hongjoong, Cyberpunk, Cyborg!Yeosang, Explosions, Fate & Destiny, FirstMate!Wooyoung, HybridPilot!Yunho, Interplanetary Travel, Jealousy, M/M, Outer Space, Police Brutality, Poverty, Prince!Mingi, Sassy!Jongho, Sci-Fi, Science Fiction, Siren!San, Space Colony, Space Flight, The Coalition really says fuck the poor, The gang's (technically) all here, Woosan stay emotionally constipated, shockingly less innuendo, sick people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-03-06 12:57:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 40,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18851542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0KKULTiC/pseuds/0KKULTiC
Summary: Hongjoong's got a good feeling about the next place the Compass guides them: BH Space Colony. At first they're eager to explore the promising colony, but their excitement quickly sours.In the depths of BH's Sub-Level D, they find an ugly truth and a beautiful cyborg.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> // This work is unbeta'd and will contain increased spelling/grammatical errors. Than you for understanding.

ATEEZ ambles through remote space at a lethargic space. Stars idly float by, passing no more quickly than a slug would across a leaf. After evading yet another arrest, Captain Kim Hongjoong made the executive decision to lay low for a day or two. He’d ordered they cruise slowly on low-econ settings in the meanwhile before taking a thwak at deciphering the Compass’s abstract projections.

 

Hongjoong yawns, plodding down the hall in his recently purchased slippers. They’re a tad big, but it beats bare feet on cold metal by a long shot. For the first time in a couple of weeks, he’s wearing a fresh change of clothes - for the third morning in a row. That fact really shouldn’t be so exhilarating, but Joong supposes he’s happy to be grateful for the little things. They say an “attitude of appreciation” is key to lifelong happiness, and after taking Mingi on, Hongjoong can honestly say he’s got a lot to be thankful.

 

Prince Mingi - no,  _ just  _ Mingi - integrated shockingly well with the crew. It’s absolutely astounding that a crown prince can even hold a conversation with someone like Choi San or Jeong Yunho. If he’s making a list, Mingi being affable is probably on top of it for Hongjoong at the moment. The Venusian has an adorable, wide-eyedness about him. Everything is still so new to him, so fresh and exciting and “oh my god did you know that this button does  _ this _ ?!” to him. He’s not nearly as stuffy as the Neith royal family probably wants people to believe. On the contrary, he’s… Normal. Boyish even. Probably more normal and boyish than even the youngest, Jongho. Turns out a crown doesn’t make a person think dick jokes or cuddle piles are any less fun.

 

Hongjoong still feels a little guilty for so adamantly believing otherwise. Part of him still feels a bit irked, in honesty. He’s still waiting for the day the wool is pulled out from over their eyes, the day Prince Mingi makes a return and is disenchanted with them all. He doesn’t seem like that type of person, but lots of people aren’t what they seem. Yes, he can get along with ATEEZ’s crew, and, yes, he was “initiated”. That doesn’t mean the captain isn’t keeping an eye on him.

 

Or at least trying to. 

 

Yunho seems to have that covered well enough. The canis is attentive and kind to the newcomer. He’s helpful and, even though he never got the privilege of education, he tries his damndest to answer any questions Mingi has (even ones that he’s not really qualified to answer). That’s typical of the canis, though. He’s always been like that - long as Hongjoong can remember. In spite of all the contemptuous, bitter prejudice he’s faced all his life, he embraces people with open arms. (Hongjoong is more than a hundred percent certain that Yunho wants a little more than to embrace Mingi, but he keeps cool on mentioning it.)

 

Another yawn stretches through Hongjoong’s body, pulling his arms up and out while his face scrunches. Happy chatter filters into his ears as he enters the kitchen-slash-living-area. That makes the captain smile. It’s nice to see everyone all happy and getting along. Joong envies their apparent wakefulness. He’s still about sixty-percent asleep himself.

 

“G’morning,” The captain yawns, waving to the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed morning people.

 

Jongho lifts a steaming mug in wordless greeting, and Yunho’s tail wags as he chirps his. San and Wooyoung deliver similarly curt, tired greetings, and Hongjoong can’t help noticing they’re sitting on opposite sides  _ and  _ opposite ends of the table. Huh.

 

“Mingi still asleep?” Hongjoong asks.

 

“Yup,” Yunho’s the first to confirm the fact. Figures. Mingi’s a heavy sleeper - at least, if the two days of empirical data gathered are indicative of his norm. Due to the fact that there is precisely no reason for anyone to be up early, Hongjoong doesn’t mind at all. It seems like they’re all morning risers out of habit more than anything else. Even when he’s up extra late, contemplating the Compass or recording captain’s logs, the captain finds himself rising at the same (simulated dawn) hour.

 

“Don’t forget to save some food for him,” The captain says. Yunho nods, returning to his bowl of Venusian golden melon. “Coffee’s on?”

 

“Hot and ready,” Jongho answers. For being the youngest, he sure doesn’t act like it. He seems to be the most dedicated early riser out of any of them, always putting the coffee on, often putting it upon himself to make breakfast. Hongjoong appreciates it a load. He calls everyone his crew, but it’s not like ever designated roles. They all agreed to split the chores evenly - it’s not like they got into specifics, though. Jongho just seems naturally courteous and altogether excellent at life.

 

Hongjoong still doesn’t know how a kid like him got into jail. Out of everyone there, aside from San he feels the saddest for Jongho. Whatever Jongho wanted to do with his life, there’s no doubt he could’ve done it and excelled. He could’ve been a singer, an actor, maybe a professor or a doctor. He’s brilliant. Not like an awkward genius brilliant, either. Just genuine, amicable brightness.

 

And then, somehow, he landed in jail. Not just in jail, but in a high security holding cell (though, apparently it wasn’t nearly high enough security). Jongho is good people - this Hongjoong knows. The kid’s not one to get mixed up with the wrong type (excluding them, anyways).

 

So how did he end up in a GC holding cell? 

 

The captain muses about all of this as he pours the sweet, dark nectar of life into a plain looking mug. He’s got half a mind to alter the dishes like he does his clothing. Everything on the ship is sterile. The color palette for the design was gray, white, black and desaturated blue. Textures primarily include metal, metal, grated metal, leather, fake wood, and more metal. The entire place still reeks of GC. At first, Joong anticipated wanting to dump it ASAP, but it’s grown on him, ATEEZ.

 

Damn, he chastises himself, shouldn’t have named it. That’s how you get attached.

 

In defense of his easily captivated nature, the ship is  _ nice _ . The Rattlesnake is a model used almost exclusively for the military and police. Only civilians with squeaky clean records, tons of cash and high clearances can get their hands on one. While the GC model they’d swiped doesn’t have all the bells and whistles some aristocrat’s private courier may have, it’s hardy as hell. The thing can take a hit and, much as he hates to admit it, Hongjoong has come to realize: ATEEZ needs that.

 

“What’s for breakie?” The captain asks, plopping down next to Yunho.

 

“Well, we sliced some of that gold melon,” Jongho says, “And here’s some eggs. Plus we sliced up some, uh, what was it called?”

 

“Ham-hamond? Hammond serrano?” Yunho posits.

 

“I think it was just serrano,” Wooyoung says. 

 

“That… Doesn’t sound like a real animal,” Yunho shakes his head.

 

“It is,” Jongho responds.

 

“What?”

 

“It is a real animal- well meat. Jamón Serrano.”

 

“Wh- No it’s not-”

 

The two go back and forth arguing, and the other three present ignore them. It makes for rather shrill background noise as Hongjoong serves himself some fruit, eggs, and thinly sliced meat. Whatever the meat stuff is, it’s Venusian, so no doubt it’s weird and fancy and- oh god is it  _ delicious _ . The slices are so paper-thin that the light comes through them. Stripes and swirls of white fat marble beautifully on the delicately cut strips. His first bite practically melts onto his tongue - a bomb of fat, salt, and savory, cured flavors. For all the hangups and reservations Joong has about Venusian culture, the food is not one of them.

 

Hongjoong tries his best to savor the stuff, but it disappears so fast. He’s hesitant lifting his last strip toward his mouth when Mingi darkens the threshold of the hall and the kitchen.

 

“Morning,” The ex-prince’s voice is low, husky with sleep. He’s got a shirt on which is an improvement over his first morning back. Yunho had apparently been nice and loaned his not-majesty some stuff for lounge clothes. 

 

“Well look who decided to get up.” “Morning!” “Morning, princess-” Greetings ring out from the busy collective.

 

Mingi flashes a sleepy smile before lumbering over to Yunho’s side. The canis’s tail wags ecstatically as the rest of the table engages in smalltalk. 

 

“Still don’t regret riding with us?” Wooyoung asks only half-jokingly. He grins widely from behind his mug.

 

“Mm-mm,” Mingi shakes his head. He’s cute when he’s all sleepy-like. His usually dire face seems softer around the edges, a tad puffier in the mornings. The luminescence that Venusians are so known for displaying even seems subdued. (Hongjoong was shocked the first morning that it was natural. They just  _ glow  _ like that, like they were born with a subdermal layer of highlight.) His hair falls onto his forehead in irregular, fluffy waves, and his already soothing, husky voice lulls a bit. 

 

Joong has to commend Yunho - his taste? Impeccable.

 

“Did you have to keep early morning schedules back at home?” Jongho wonders.

 

“Mhm,” The half-dead Venusian nods tiredly.

 

“How the hell did you do it?” Wooyoung chuckles. 

 

“Had to,” The former monarch’s answer is curt, efficient. No more words or brain power than necessary used. “Coffee.”

 

“I got you,” Yunho offers. He’s been doing that a lot, too. Bending over backwards to help the guy out. It’s sweet and so, so typical Yunho. Or, more correctly, it was sweet at first. Now it makes Hongjoong cringe a little. God, Yunho is so many things - subtle is not one of them. 

 

“No,” Mingi grabs the canis’s arm just as he gets up from the table. “No.” He says again, more resolutely. Slowly, Song Mingi rises in all his bleary glory. “I’ll do it,” he insists. 

 

The words ring loud and clear in Hongjoong’s mind: “No special treatment”. Mingi had been sticking to those guns, much to Hongjoong’s surprise. He’d been doing so almost too insistently. ATEEZ’s crew does things for each other, little things. It’s just what people do, really. Taking the dishes when they leave the table, offering help if someone needs something, getting stuff off the high shelves for the less vertically gifted. Mingi won’t have any of it. Even if someone’s in the kitchen already rinsing off dishes, he  _ has  _ to wash his own - that sort of thing.

 

It heavily contradicts with Yunho’s intrinsic nature of helping everybody with everything all the time. The clash that ensues is one part adorable, one part funny, and a thousand parts painful.

 

“Wh- Mingi, it’s fine, you’re not even alive,” Yunho replies hushedly. 

 

“No. I am. Let me just- just do the thing.”

 

“What if you spill it again, though? Your burn was gnarly-”

 

And this is the point at which Hongjoong wants to kill himself. Honestly. They’re unbearable. He wishes they were the worst two on the ship, but the truth is, they’re far from it.

 

Hongjoong frowns, eyeing Wooyoung next to him and San across the table.

 

Those two.

 

“He said he can do it himself!” San hollers over to Yunho who’s sidled up to Mingi in the kitchen. The siren lets out a chuckle, but there’s almost an iciness to his tone. Hongjoong wonders if he imagined it.

  
San’s been off ever since leaving Venus. Like, way off. He’d shown such a resilient effervescence when he’d first boarded. The siren is loud, boisterous, and upbeat in spite of everything. He teased and tortured the crew - all the while very clearly gunning for the attention of a certain human. And he had it, too. Nobody quite has the hold on Jung Wooyoung that Choi San has. 

  
Except, that changed. He’s been quiet and subdued since leaving the planet. He looks spacey and doesn’t engage much in conversation. There’s a few jokes and laughter, but it seems a bit more clipped. It’s a stark change, and Hongjoong is almost certain he’s not the only one who’s noticed.

 

The first possibility is that the reality of the siren’s circumstances has taken a toll. Perhaps leaving another planet (well, being chased off, technically) triggered something. Or maybe it’s just the time making him feel melancholic.

 

The second possibility - the one Hongjoong thinks is the proper one, the one he  _ hates  _ \- is that it has something to do with Jung Wooyoung. It’s no secret that San fancies him. The siren isn’t conspicuous in the way that Yunho and his wagging tail is. However, his intentions are undeniably there. Everyone sees the looks San gives, the side eyes, and the way they’d met, how Wooyoung of all people had prompted San to defend them, speaks volumes. San saw something in him, something profound enough to inspire him to speak out against his people, get banished from his home. His leaders called him brainwashed, some may say San simply thought rationally, unbiased and open-minded. Joong doesn’t doubt that San is those things - rational, unbiased, open-minded and merciful. But that doesn’t mean that’s what landed San on their ship. At the end of the day, the captain points the finger at Wooyoung. It’s him. Something about him. Not just the humans, it’s  _ that  _ human.

 

Then there’s Wooyoung… He’s a different story. Not nearly as simple as Joong had first thought (as much as he likes to joke about how he met the siren). Hongjoong is getting more of it as time goes on, as he gets to know him better. It’s like restoring an old, faded painting. Over time the color becomes more saturated, and the dust is wiped away, revealing the truth beneath. Wooyoung is complicated, likely more than even the captain knows. There’s something keeping the younger man from embracing Choi San the way he embraces the rest. On the surface, Wooyoung is cool, funny, and confident. But beneath, he seems hesitant and unsure. Joong wonders why. Is he uncertain of where he’s at himself? Or of what’s between them?

 

Hongjoong is fairly certain there’s  _ something  _ there. What is it? The captain doesn’t know. He really  _ doesn’t want _ to know. It’s  _ none  _ of his business. He can guess, but does guessing it make him happy and content? No. Because, in spite of the hours he spends agonizing over his crew’s happiness, he doesn’t actually _want_ to know about their very personal lives. He doesn’t! It’s none of his business!

 

Yet, somehow, Hongjoong feels the gravitational pull of these two and their compounding personal issues slowly pull him in. He’s yanked into this weird limbo of really not wanting to know but wanting his precious friends, his brothers, to be happy. In his ideal world, everyone is direct and talks things out. He contemplates making the two talk to one another but realizes that’s just throwing himself in the middle of the fire. No thank you.

 

“Hey,” Hongjoong speaks up after finishing his last slice of jamon sadly. “I think I’m gonna try and mess around with the Compass again in a little bit. See if I can’t get some stable coordinates.”

 

“Oh- Can I go?” Mingi sounds more alive as he strides back to the table with a coffee in hand.

 

“Actually,” The captain bites his lip nervously. “I was wondering if you could help Wooyoung with something.”

 

“Hm? Wooyoung?” Wooyoung pipes up. “That’s me. I’m Wooyoung.”

 

“You sure are,” Hongjoong chuckles. “Look- It’s your turn to take Princess Park his breakfast, and he still doesn’t believe that we have a prince onboard.”

 

“I’m not a prince,” Mingi protests with a pout.

 

“An ex-prince,” The captain corrects. He hadn’t gone to visit their esteemed guest since delivering him clothes, but he’s kept an ear out for his activities. According to San, who’d taken him food two one night prior, he had changed his clothes - leaving his used ones folded neatly to be washed. Upon being told that there’s royalty on ATEEZ, he scoffed. The model kit had gone untouched, perched on the corner of his sink precariously. 

 

“But- like- if you can play up the royal thing, I think he’d really love that,” The captain smirks. He wishes he could picture Petty Officer Prettyboy’s reaction, but he really can’t fathom the guy having a range of emotion beyond condescending irritation and condescending rage. He can dream, though. He can definitely dream. “Take your time eating, though. It takes a toll on me, but if the PO’s breakfast  _ has  _ to wait…” He clutches his chest dramatically, “Then so be it.”

 

“That’s cool, I’ve never been to the brig,” Mingi beams - actually beams at the prospect. Bless his soul. Everything really is new and exciting to him. 

 

“It’s just a jail,” Jongho laughs.

 

“What- D’you think he’s ever been to a jail?” Yunho lightly kicks the kid in the shin.

 

“Yeah- Let him foster his sense of adventure!” Wooyoung defends the sheepishly chuckling Venusian. “Mingi, don’t let him harsh your buzz. Jail can be fun.”

 

“Didn’t you break out of a jail,” Mingi asks for clarification (since he was later given the unabridged regaling of their brief history). 

 

“Yeah, it didn’t take,” Wooyoung shrugs jokingly. “But, you know, it’s neat to have one on your ship.”

 

“We had one in our house- well, it was in the catacombs. It was a dungeon. A dungeon in the catacombs.”

 

“Oh-” Jongho quips dryly, “-that’s basically the same thing.”

 

“Really?” The Venusian genuinely asks. “Does it have chains on the walls and everything? Or do GC ships utilize laser bindings?”

 

“Bindings?” Wooyoung snorts. “What kind of dungeon was this again?”

 

San speaks for what feels like the first time in forever, smirking, “Next time we go to Venus, why don’t you go down there and find out?”

 

“I mean- It sounds pretty fun,” Wooyoung jokes - if he noticed the clipped venom in the siren’s tone, he ignores it.

 

“People get tortured. Why would that be fun?” Mingi’s face scrunches with confusion. He’s an incredible creature, the Venusian. Educated by some of Venus’s finest, most intelligent people, fluent in two languages. In many ways and about many subjects, his knowledge is impressive, encyclopedic even. Yet there is still so, so much he does not know. Hongjoong almost feels guilty, like he’s corrupting him. 

 

Almost is the keyword.

 

“Wooyoung enjoys the thrill of being almost killed,” San says with a smirk. A few laughs (and a bemoaned protest) follow the remark, but Hongjoong can’t help bristling internally. Something about the jab felt kinda personal (not to  _ him _ , of course).

 

“That’s what makes you so alluring,” Wooyoung waggles his brows at the siren. Joong wonders: is now the time to flirt? Can a man truly be that obtuse? The captain considers that it’s maybe  _ him  _ embellishing on reality with what he thinks is going on. Maybe things are totally fine.

 

“Though not more alluring than the ladies of Neith.”

 

Or maybe not.

 

San gives Wooyoung a fake-but-not-actually-fake pout, and Hongjoong wonders if he’s the only one in the room who gets a chill. There’s something dire about a siren scorned. Something that Hongjoong feels like shouldn’t be messed with or provoked. 

 

Something that Wooyoung is somehow not reading at all.

 

“Wh- How can you blame me?!” The hume whines. “I’m weak, and they’re beautiful.”

 

“Weak,” San breathes out. “That’s one word for it.” He stabs a metal chopstick roughly in the middle of an over-easy egg, making the center burst and spew yellowy yolk all over his entire plate. There’s a gory implication there. One Hongjoong prays Wooyoung gets before the siren kills his dumb ass.

 

“Venusians take beauty very seriously!” Mingi interjects, completely unstirred. It’s obvious he’s totally oblivious. Or maybe he isn’t - because the subject quickly changes afterward. Seamlessly, the crew slips into a jubilant discussion of beauty preferences and skincare. San narrows his eyes at the Venusian but doesn’t say anything, his desire for banter apparently sated.

 

“Hey, San,” Hongjoong calls from behind the sink when he’s done washing his dishes. “Can you help me out on the bridge?”

 

“Hm?” The siren blinks at the captain, befuddled. He’d been sulking behind his mug since the conversation changed. “How can I be of help? I’m- I’m still learning about-”

 

“Just come on,” Joong nods toward the grated metal stairs leading up. “Unless you got something better to do.”

 

“What can I be of help with?” The siren asks as he pushes his chair in.

 

“Fresh set of eyes always helps with the Compass, I feel,” Hongjoong says with a shrug.

 

“Can I bring my coffee?”

 

Joong chuckles at that and nods toward the stairs, “Yeah. Come on.”

 

The two ascend the steps and pass the threshold. As the door shuts behind them, San’s aura of tension dissipates. He almost seems relieved, and there’s stars in his eyes once again. Content, the siren strides over to the viewing window, a tiny smile playing at his lips. A long sigh leaves his mouth - it’s probably still a strange sensation, Hongjoong thinks. How many deep breaths of air has San taken in his life? It’s something he, a human, takes for granted. But for San, it probably means something different, feels different, too. After giving the siren a bit to stargaze, Hongjoong calls him over to the Compass.

 

“C’mere,” The captain says, nibbling on his lower lip anxiously. He’s never had quarrels about being direct, to the point before. He also has never had to confront a siren about emotions. It’s not that he believes any of the bullshit PO Park says - “He’s gonna drown you in your sleep.” “Just wait, he’ll kill you, they hate humans”. The nerves percolating in his guts are more due to the fact that he still knows so little about San, the person. The person who’d sacrificed everything just to be there. The one who probably doesn’t let on how much he’s struggling to adjust. The one who seems to feel betrayed by the human he’d put his trust in.

 

“This thing is so cool,” The siren says with hushed awe, fingers grazing the glass dome.

 

“Mhm,” Hongjoong nods.

 

“So, uh, what do you want me to look at?”

 

The captain heaves a sigh, wringing a hand down his face, “Actually I wanted to talk.”

 

San’s brows furrow with confusion, “About the Compass?”

 

Oh boy. This won’t be easy, will it? The captain realizes.

 

“About you.”

 

The siren frowns, “What… What about me?”

 

“You’ve been acting different, and I wanna know why.” There. Frank. To the point. No sugarcoating or implicit language. The captain’s heart seizes in his chest, beating paused in anticipation.

 

San freezes up a bit. His expression shifts, wearing a few different emotions over the span of seconds: puzzlement, dubiousness, annoyance and remorse. 

 

“Have I been a bother?” He asks, his voice soft, timid.

 

“Wh- No. God- No, not at all,” Hongjoong shakes his head emphatically. “It’s just- You- I’m worried about you. You’re quiet. You seem unhappy. Do you think you wanna go back to Ubureru? Because if you do-”

 

“No,” San cuts him off. “No that’s- that’s not it.”

 

Hongjoong raises an eyebrow, “So it is something. Something  _ is _ bothering you, and… You seem like a pretty cool customer. So, if it’s affecting your outward behavior, it’s gotta be bothering you a lot.” The captain has his own theories as to what’s bothering San, but he’s not about to accuse the other of anything. Even if it’s frustrating and contradicts his philosophy of being direct, he tries to goad answers out of the other gently. Finger pointing doesn’t help anyone.

 

In confirmation of Hongjoong’s words, San stance changes. He shrinks a little and crosses his arms in front of his chest. His gaze darts down to the ground. He’s feeling assaulted already, and his body language is on the defensive.

 

“I’m sorry if it’s causing you any discomfort or-”

 

“San, no. No- I’m bringing this up because it hurts me to see you so-” The captain gestures vaguely. “So not you.”

 

“I…” San finally ventures a look at his captain’s face. It’s the most vulnerable Hongjoong had ever seen him look - that’s including the time he squared up against his own chief and got exiled from his ocean. His fingers fidget idly as he chokes out a response. “I- Oh- god- it’s- it’s embarrassing. Shameful, really. A display of how weak-minded-”

 

“San, I don’t care. I just know that letting stuff sit and fester makes it eat at you on the inside. Just say it- explain it to the best of your ability even if it’s sort of hard to, like, explain in words.”

 

The siren sighs and nods, tension visibly coiling his body tight and together, “I am… I- I feel-” His voice gets small, smaller than before. “I feel jealous.”

 

Finally. A confession. Progress. A starting point, something that can be acknowledged and worked with.

 

“Okay,” Hongjoong nods.

 

“I- I know it’s beyond juvenile,” The siren covers his face with a hand. “I… It’s so embarrassing, really.”

 

“No,” The captain shakes his head. He steps around the Compass to join San by his side and slings a reassuring arm around the other’s shoulders. “No it’s not.”

 

“Yes. It is. There is- is no reason for me to feel like this. It’s absolutely childish. Like- Like to have some latent emotion telling me I’m entitled to- to things.”

 

“Entitled to… What kinds of things?” The affections of a certain Jung Wooyoung, perhaps?

 

“I…”

 

“No judgment, I  _ promise _ ,” Hongjoong insists. And it’s true. He’s not judging San for any of this. Circumstances aside, jealousy is something everyone feels. It’s shitty, but it’s not going anywhere. In San’s situation, Hongjoong is sure he’d be jealous, too. Who  _ wouldn’t  _ be - watching the object of their affection wedge themselves between half a dozen hot Venusians?

 

“I-” The pain is apparent in San’s voice. Perhaps not pain from his emotions, but pain in admitting them. “I’m jealous because of the- the attention. And- and the regard.” He backpedals quickly. “I- I told you it’s childish. To be mad that I’m not the center of attention-”

 

“Wh- No- San. It’s okay. Everyone wants to feel appreciated and- and recognized- and like those around them care. That’s not childish.”

 

“Really? Because it feels that way. Ugly, pointless emotion.”

 

“It’s not. Jealousy is a totally natural, valid emotion. It’s not nice, but that’s why I pulled you aside. So we can nip it in the ass before it takes a toll. You’re free to vent to me.”

 

The siren heaves a sigh, resting his head on Hongjoong’s shoulder, “I just- I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to resent him for- for just being himself. For making the choices he does in his life.”

 

“Does it hurt you? The way he acts?” Hongjoong tries to encourage the other to talk a bit.

 

San furrows his brows and shakes his head, “No. No, it’s not that.”

 

Huh. Guess he’s not feeling as open as the captain thought.

 

“Then what about it is hurting you?”

 

“I guess it’s just…” San trails off in contemplation for a few moments. “I- He’s such a pure soul. I don’t want to feel bitter, but- but my heart just seizes up. I just- I feel anger, and I think that hurts me more. Like my own emotions are betraying me. Maybe I’m more mad at myself than at him.”

 

Pure soul?  _ Jung Wooyoung? _ Hongjoong severely underestimated just how inflated San’s view of the guy is, apparently.

 

Joong tries proposing another strategy, “Have you tried talking to him about it? Like, directly?”

 

“What?” San unlatches from Hongjoong to give him a wide-eyed look of shock. “Wh- No. I could never.”

 

“Why not? He cares about you.”

 

“He hardly knows me.”

 

“So maybe getting to know each other a bit better will help everything? I think you two could be- could be really close.” He tactfully avoids implying anything romantic - even though it seems to be the obvious choice.

 

“You think so?” San sounds a bit relieved, and his tensity slackens a titch.

 

“I really do. I bet you’ll find lots of common ground, and… He’s a good soul. Kinda awkward, and I’m starting to get that he’s really clueless about certain things, too.”

 

San chuckles at that, “Yeah. No kidding. It’s kind of adorable, though.” His lips turn into a tiny grin. 

 

Hongjoong resists the urge to dip a finger inside one of his cute dimples, instead nodding in agreement, “A little bit, yeah.”

 

“I just-” San lets out another loud exhalation, and more tension seems to leave his body with it. “I don’t know why anyone would choose this lifestyle- no offense.”

 

“I- Hey, you chose it, too,” Hongjoong says, a tad lost.

 

“Yeah, but he had a choice. I- I know it’s petty-”

 

“It’s not.”

 

“-Okay, it’s ‘not petty’- but still. I just… Seeing how everyone treats him and lavishes him with all this attention and praise- talking about how cute he is… All the while he has a home to return to. I don’t.”

 

Wait.

  
What?

 

“I guess- It- it really does feel stupid, but I guess it hurt me to think that… You all cared more about him than me.”

 

Cared about- 

 

_ What? _

 

“I think what I truly resent is that he had a choice. Yet you all still act like he made such a sacrifice!”

 

Hongjoong is lost. He’s utterly lost. San took a turn somewhere, and he didn’t tell Hongjoong.

 

The captain tries to interject dumbly, “San, uh-”

 

“I mean- Fuck- God, I- I don’t curse much, I’m sorry, I just- Fuck what do I have to do? Wear a sign that says ‘comfort me’? Do you know how  _ pathetic  _ that feels? To have to broadcast that you- you want people to care about you?” His voice thickens at that. “But- But he doesn’t, oh no. He just- just  _ exists  _ and you all fawn over him.” San seems to be on a roll of sorts, huffing and puffing, pacing across the floor as he vents steam.

 

“We… Fawn?”

 

“I- I suppose if he was just a total dullard, I’d be less angry, but the truth is… I get it, too. Why would anyone care about how I feel when- when there’s that-” The siren gestures vaguely toward the door to the stairs. “-around? He’s handsome and smart about strange things and tall yet somehow cute and- and-”

 

“San, I think you- I think you should-”

 

“ _ What _ ?!” The siren snaps, his exclamation leaving a shrill ringing in the captain’s ears. The sound of something clattering against the floor by the pilot’s console echoes through the bridge.

 

Hongjoong hisses, wincing at the sharp pain in his ears. It’s just an instant, like someone poked something sharp inside his eardrum, but that instant is excruciating. When he comes to, blinking the pain-induced haze out of his eyes, San looks at him, eyes wide and watery with concern.

 

“Did- Did I hurt you?” His voice is tiny again, a mere whisper. He covers his mouth with his hand.

 

Joong can see the regret in the siren’s eyes, he can hear the guilt dripping from the question. It was an accident, obviously. Some sort of siren outburst.

 

“No,” Hongjoong lies. “Just surprised me is all.”

 

“Shit,” San pinches the bridge of his nose, “I’m sorry. I- This is why-”

 

“Nope,” The captain interjects. He has a feeling that sentence of his was only gonna end in self-deprecation, and he won’t allow it. “Do not finish that thought.”

 

“But I-” The siren huffs. “I bet Mingi wouldn’t have hurt you.” He grumbles, crossing his arms again.

 

Mingi?

 

_ Mingi? _

 

“What does he have to do wi-” That’s when the match lights. 

 

Hongjoong had been speaking to San under the assumption that Wooyoung was the primary subject of his ill feelings. That’s why half of the stuff he said didn’t make sense. Joong figured it was weird siren semantics. Pure soul  _ really  _ should’ve given it away, and Hongjoong feels embarrassed not connecting those dots. Because, honestly, who in their right mind would call Wooyoung  _ innocent _ ? All that talk about life choices, about fawning.

 

San isn’t talking about being jealous of Wooyoung dancing with other people.

 

He’s jealous of  _ Mingi  _ getting attention when he’d opted into their lifestyle. Just like San said: Mingi has a home - not a shitty one, either. Hell, not an average one. He’s a prince. A fucking prince. And he opted out of that for what? A risky adventure? That bit still vexes even the captain a little bit.

 

Then there’s San. Hongjoong can tell: he’s prideful. The siren isn’t the type to cry about his problems openly or let on that he’s feeling like shit. That doesn’t mean he’s not hurting, though. Hongjoong’s been conscientious of the other’s feelings, sure, but he feels a twinge of guilt knowing he hadn’t personally seen to it that San is comfortable and happy. He’d sort of hoped Wooyoung would shoulder that - given that San clearly trusts him and likes him the most. 

 

So maybe Wooyoung is involved after all.

 

No, Hongjoong thinks, Wooyoung is  _ definitely  _ involved. Joong doesn’t think San’s affections for Wooyoung are completely removed from this. However, if San wants to talk about feeling jealous of Mingi, then so be it. He plays along.

 

“San,” The captain heaves a sigh. It’s amazing how just talking to a person can take a toll on one. “Why don’t you… Talk to Mingi? Don’t- don’t tell him your jealous or bitter, just- just try to understand him better. Answer that question you have: why are you here and not in your stupid palace?”

 

“You think I should ask him that?” San asks weakly.

 

“Well- In different words,” The captain lets out a wry laugh. “You and Mingi… I think you two have a lot more in common than you think. Like I, uh- Like I said. You two could be really close, I think.” He  _ was  _ talking about Wooyoung, but luckily vagueness can be interpreted in plenty of ways. “Get to know him better, and I bet that feeling will go away.”

 

“Y-you really think so?”

 

“I do,” Hongjoong nods. 

 

“Well…” San presses his lips together in thought. “I do have lots of questions about Venus. Y’know, I wasn’t able to swim in any water there, and I’m curious. You- you think he’ll like me?”

 

Hongjoong laughs at that - he doesn’t mean to, it just happens. San really is so steadfast, so unshakeable in many situations. It’s hard to imagine him being insecure about anything - let alone around someone like Mingi who, while imposing physically, is just as much of a puppy as Yunho is.

 

“Go,” Joong points to the door. “Go make friends.” He wonders if this is what his parents felt like when they urged him and Yunho to go outside and actually talk to other kids. It never really went well. He prays San does better than they ever did.

 

“Yes, sir!” San chuckles. He looks lighter than before as he paces over to the door. His hand’s on the console when Joong stops him.

 

“Wait-!”

 

“Hm?” The siren tilts his head cutely, curiously.

 

“Um, San-” Hongjoong feels the words at the tip of his lips. The question is right there:

  
What about Wooyoung?   
  


His gut feeling tells him that there’s still something unresolved between those two. That it’s a cause of tension for them - that it will continue to be if it’s not addressed.

 

But…

 

Something in the siren’s expression stops Hongjoong from asking. He looks okay. Not euphoric or bouncing off the walls, but okay. Joong doesn’t want to jeopardize that.

 

It can wait, he decides. Maybe opening up a little and expanding his support network will eradicate the Wooyoung thing.

 

“What is it?” San asks again.

 

Hongjoong spits out another question impulsively, “Uh- That mug-” He points to the mug San had placed on the pilot’s console. It’s now shattered on the floor in big hunks, the remnants of coffee in it spilled all over the floor. “What, um- what happened? Wait-” It suddenly dawns on him that something did happen. Wasn’t San halfway across the bridge when the thing spilled. “What did happen?”

 

San’s cheeks flush, and his gaze falls onto his feet, “I’ll clean it up.”

 

“Yeah, but- what- how?”

 

“Oh, y’know, just, um, the siren stuff. Manipulating molecules with the frequency of our voices and our wills and stuff-”

 

“Hold up- You have super powers?!” Hongjoong gasps.

 

San snorts and shakes his head, “No, no, no. No. This isn’t a comic book-”

 

“They have those down there?”

 

The siren rolls his eyes, “It’s science. How do you think we move through water so deftly? Yes, our bodies evolved, but so did our minds. With our awareness, we can hone the gamma waves emitted by our minds in order to manipulate the environment around us-”

 

“So you have superpowers? And you didn’t tell anyone?”

 

“It’s just water,” San laughs like it’s the most elementary thing in the world, being a water manipulator or whatever. 

 

“Water you can control with your mind.”

 

“You make me sound like I'm a sea witch!”

 

“Wh- Is that a thing-?!” The captain throws his hands up. “Okay- Well, go scientifically manipulate this coffee off of the floor, please. I’m gonna tinker around with this thing,” He glances at his precious Compass.

 

“Yes, sir,” San says, opening the door. “Oh, and sir?”

 

“Hm?” Joong’s gaze shifts from the innards of the Compass to the siren.

 

San grins warmly at the captain, “Thank you.”

 

“Don’t mention it,” The captain replies with a smile.

 

When he’d first embarked on ATEEZ - only three crew members and one prisoner - he thought the GC on his tail and deciphering the Compass would be his main concerns. With each friend they make and every day they spend, he learns more and more:

 

It’s the stuff in between - their daily lives and how they intertwine - that’s the real adventure.

 

* * *

 

“He is gonna lose it!” Wooyoung snickers as the two pass through the threshold of the jail. Mingi immediately takes long strides in, head whipping in every which direction. His mouth makes a little “o” shape as he looks around in fascination. Who knew even a combat freighter’s jail could be fascinating to a person? 

 

The (not) prince runs his hand along the metal bars as he strides forward. Upon their entrance, the silhouette brooding in the farthest cell shifts slightly. 

 

“Breakfast!” Wooyoung barks curtly as he approaches the place of holding. Mingi skips ahead a bit, stopping just short of where the prisoner would be able to see him. He eyes the cell dubiously, like it’s got a caged animal and not a person.

 

Wooyoung supposes that the PO basically is a caged animal. Not a super feral one, though. He’s not thrashing around all berserk like a gorilla or frenzied hyena. He’s more the kind that likes to preen a lot while poising itself to pounce. One of those stealth predators - an alligator or a leopard.

 

Everyone who’s had to deliver said animal his meals has their own style and approach to it. Jongho gives him the silent treatment which the PO appreciates. At least, that’s what it seems like given that any conversation a person attempts with him is met with “I like the little one, he’s quiet”. Jongho is in and out in no time, sulking by the door while he waits. 

 

Then there’s Yunho on the other end of the spectrum. He drums up all sorts of small talk and idle conversation for the pure purpose of irritating the shit out of the PO. Maybe he’s hoping the PO will drop dead from the radiance of his sunny demeanor. Or he’ll just off himself so he doesn’t have to hear Yunho ramble about a butterfly he chased one time. 

 

The captain alternates between antagonizing the PO and staring daggers at him. Ever since nearly getting his ass beat in the infirmary, he comes down less. Wooyoung thinks that’s for the best because every time he does have to deliver food, it puts him in a shitty mood for at least two hours afterward. 

 

San’s wary of him, but he once told Wooyoung that he gets the vibe that “PO Park is terrified of me - he thinks that I can’t tell”. The siren, cunning, captivating creature he is, likes to use this for his entertainment. Wooyoung watched the security feed the first time San went to bring Officer Park his dinner without anyone else. San just stared at him maliciously for the entire, rushed mealtime. One time, San caught the PO looking him in the eye. All he did was squint, and the man dropped his spoon. Wooyoung’s squeaky laugh echoed across the entire second level of the ship when he saw it.

 

Wooyoung? He keeps it simple and impersonal - like a real jailor would. Or, well, a proper one. Most prison guards enjoy their unchecked power a little too much - that’s something Wooyoung does not intend to do or even think about. At the end of the day PO Park Seonghwa is a person, too. They’re gonna dump him off on some remote planet, and he’ll end up having to live with whatever scars his indeterminate amount of prison time will leave him with. Wooyoung doesn’t want to inflict any deeper than absolutely necessary. Unlike the hypocrites of the Coalition, he actually cares.

 

Not a  _ lot _ \- but he cares. Just enough to not be outrightly cruel. Most of the time.

 

“I heard two sets of footsteps,” Seonghwa says clippedly, glancing down the hall. Mingi stands just out of view per Wooyoung’s request. He doesn’t wanna spoil the surprise just yet. 

 

Wooyoung wordlessly sets the tray on the door’s ledge, letting it feed through. The Petty Officer lets the issue go. He ought to know by now that he’s not gonna get anything from Wooyoung. Unlike the others, he and Wooyoung had similar training up to a point. That along with the skills he’d learned working for the jolly criminals of KQ make him pretty adamant. He’s not gonna be coaxed into giving out extraneous information or bullied into having some sort of a mental break.

 

“Laundry?” Wooyoung asks.

 

Seonghwa shakes his head, eyes fixed on his food, “This evening, there will be.”

 

“Hm,” Woo grunts.

 

He lets the other get close to completion in silence. Seonghwa’s always so proper. He eats quietly and sits upright with perfect posture. Wooyoung wonders why. Is it just habit? Was he raised strictly? Or is it a result of his tenure in the GC? Wooyoung had seen a lot of blackcoats who carried themselves like the glorified thugs they are, so he doubts it’s the last one. Shit, he’s more prim than Mingi - the literal royalty.

 

Oh, right. Mingi.

 

“Y’know,” Wooyoung pipes up when Seonghwa’s nearly done. “There’s someone else you should meet.”

 

PO Park rolls his eyes, “Should I, now? Should I really?”

 

Wooyoung chuckles, “I think you’d really like to meet him.”

 

“If this is your Venusian prince, I’m sick of hearing about it,” Obvious disbelief drips from his voice, and he deliberately focuses all of his attention on his plate in an act of defiance.

 

Wooyoung nods to Mingi, silently instructing him to come over. The Venusian (ex)prince steps in front of the cell meekly. Mingi clearly doesn’t know what to expect. The few comments that crew’s made about PO Park usually just talk about how stuck up he is, how pompous. Hongjoong mentioned his “eerily perfect hair” offhandedly one time, and San called him outright rude. That’s about all Mingi knows going into this.

 

The Venusian prince looks the PO up and down, assessing the blackcoat for himself. He looks neither impressed nor disappointed. 

 

“So this is the prisoner?” Mingi asks as if PO Park isn’t right there.

 

The Petty Officer sighs, finally looking up, “And who the hell are-”

 

_ “Clack!” _ His chopstick hits the tray with a soft sound. Wooyoung isn’t sure exactly how to read the prisoner’s expression. He sort of looks like he’s gonna throw up, face contorted into an expression of disgusted doubt. His crystal blue eyes are blown wide, wide open, the pupils dancing frantically up and down the Venusian’s figure.

 

He scrambles to collect his composure, but not before a telling flush tints his cheeks.

 

“That’s- that’s quite a likeness you have there,” The PO grumbles, talking more to his half-eaten eggs than to the statuesque Venusian standing before him.

 

“Uh-” Mingi leans close to Wooyoung and whispers, “Do I introduce myself? He seems kind of jittery. This is sort of awkward, introducing myself to a prisoner.”

 

“Aw, don’t be shy,” Wooyoung tells the prisoner. “The captain said you have quite a fondness for the Venusians.”

 

Seonghwa sets his chopsticks down, actually jumping from the unexpectedly loud sound it makes. Scarlet swaths across his cheeks as he feigns composure. Wooyoung can practically see him shaking.

 

“And you lot have a fondness for picking up strays. You really expect me to believe that Prince Song Mingi of Neith decided to pick up and take off in your stolen ship so he can join a band of criminals?!”

 

“Well…” “Yeah.” “Yes, actually.” “Mhm.” The two on the other side of the bars mumble and nod.

 

Seonghwa lets out a wry laugh and turns to Mingi, “👍︎♋︎■︎ ⍓︎□︎◆︎ ♏︎❖︎♏︎■︎ ◆︎■︎♎︎♏︎❒︎⬧︎⧫︎♋︎■︎♎︎ ❍︎♏︎✍︎?”

 

Mingi’s face lights up. For a second he ignores the fact that the person behind bars is technically an enemy. Genuinely excited, he beams at Seongwha.

 

“✡︎□︎◆︎ ⬧︎◻︎♏︎♋︎🙵 ❖︎♏︎■︎◆︎⬧︎♓︎♋︎■︎✍︎ ⍓︎□︎◆︎❒︎ ♋︎♍︎♍︎♏︎■︎⧫︎🕯︎⬧︎ ■︎□︎⧫︎ ⧫︎□︎□︎ ♌︎♋︎♎︎✏︎!” He responds.

 

Seonghwa blinks.

 

He blinks once.

 

Then twice.

 

Then again for a third time.

 

Wooyoung’s almost scared the guy’s having a stroke when almost a minute passes and all he does is blink. Just when he’s about to head to the infirmary to get some - well, something - the PO remembers how to talk.

 

“I- Wh- Wh-”

 

Or maybe not.

 

“Sorry, did I speak too fast?” Mingi asks genially. 

 

“M- Mmm- m-” The blond shakes his head furiously (yet his hair miraculously stays in place - seriously, how?!), “Where did you learn Venusian?”

 

“✋︎⧫︎🕯︎⬧︎ ❍︎⍓︎ ■︎♋︎⧫︎♓︎❖︎♏︎ ⧫︎□︎■︎♑︎◆︎♏︎,” Mingi answers casually.

 

“They don’t- they don’t just teach Venusian unless you’re granted an- an extended work visa or you’re a Coalition soldier. Even then, it’s elective,” Seonghwa looks spooked, like he’s talking to a poltergeist right now and not a living, breathing person.

 

The Venusian leans over and whispers to Wooyoung, “His accent’s not bad, but I think he struggles with comprehension.”

 

“I do not!” The PO shouts. His two jailor look at him with wide, shocked eyes. Embarrassed by his own outburst, the prisoner clears his throat and looks down. “I do not. Though I admit my fluency is conversational at best. Not- not that I believe any of this. His majesty is due to be wed. He’s probably on his honeymoon now.”

 

“Huh- Wait, how’d you know that?” Wooyoung asks.

 

Seonghwa scoffs, “I read. You know of it- right? Reading? The Coalition’s lucky enough to get a few Venusian publications and newsletters due to our allegiance. Not news the public would be privy to, of course. I mean- they’d have to be able to read it for starters.”

 

Mingi rolls his eyes, “And you believe what we send you?”

 

“Huh?” 

The Venusian frowns, “I wonder what they’re saying now that I’ve gone… Probably some PR cover-up. God, the people of Amalthea must be  _ pissed _ . I’ll never know if my prospective wife looked as good in person as she did in the pictures...”

 

“Am-Amalthea- How did he- how do you know that word?” The PO asks with wide eyes.

 

“Wh- They’re just across the sea from us, how would I not know it?” Mingi’s brows furrow with confusion.

 

“I- Right. Of course. Ha! Of course, you would because you’re the prince.”

 

“I- I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. Is he being sarcastic?” The Venusian asks Wooyoung.

 

“At this point, I think he might be too stupid to function.”

 

“Your cosplay is- is amusing, and your Venusian skilled, I just- I-” Seonghwa shakes his head and throws his hands up. “No.  _ No _ .”

 

“Wow- You know what, whatever-” Wooyoung huffs. “Mingi let’s-”

 

The Venusian squats down so he’s eye level with the prisoner sitting on the ground. He looks… Upset? It’s the first time Wooyoung has seen him vexed, and it’s scary. His entire demeanor changes. It’s like the air around him transforms into something electrified with tensity. Even in a t-shirt and shorts he’d borrowed from Yunho, the guy possesses an undeniable presence. Wooyoung didn’t think Mingi the prideful type, but maybe Seonghwa’s condescending nature provoked him more than he let on at first.

 

“Would a cosplayer have this?” Mingi asks, his tone husky and almost dire. He turns his head slowly, pointing to a birthmark near his sculpted jawline.

 

“M-makeup or tattoos could cover that,” Suddenly, the PO doesn’t look so sure of himself. His smug expression is gone. He looks almost scared or like there’s something caught in this throat.

 

Mingi chuckles wryly - he expected that answer. Then, the Venusian grabs his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. He draws it forward, flipping it down gingerly. Wooyoung quirks an eyebrow inquisitively, leaning over to see what the hell Mingi is doing. His eyes widen - there’s something there.

 

A luminescent crest twinkles on the underside of the Venusian’s lip. A tattoo? Seonghwa sees it, too, and all the color drains from his face. He folds and unfolds his hands in his lap, complete loss flashing across his eyes.

 

Mingi smirks, releasing his lip and grinning, “What about that?”

  
Wooyoung doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but he uses deductive reasoning to get the gist of it. Mingi’s got some fancy, royal tattoo that only fancy, royal people do. Seonghwa knows that. He’s now shitting himself because he mouthed off to royalty - something he apparently gives a shit about. Wooyoung, himself, while not meaning to be disrespectful doesn’t exactly care. Mingi’s made it a point that he doesn’t want “special treatment”, but even prior, Wooyoung has never really given a shit about the affairs of the upper echelon.

 

“Nice to meet you, too,” Mingi lavishes his tone with saccharine friendliness.

 

“What… What’re you doing here?” The prisoner mumbles, his voice tiny. “Y-Your majesty.” He tacks on with haste.

 

“Damn, his colors changed,” Wooyoung laughs.

 

“Why are you with these people, your majesty?” Seonghwa asks.

 

“Well, to put it simply,” Mingi pretends to think. “I like ‘em.”

 

“Wh- Wh- Wh- You like them?!” Seonghwa gasps, affronted. “I- Are you-” He reigns back in whatever anger he’d almost let out, lowering his voice. “These people are wanted criminals. They- they are bad people, your majesty.  _ Dangerous _ .”

 

“I’ve heard their stories,” The Venusian replies dismissively. “I understand that they’re not saints, but, well- if you only knew what happened behind the gilded walls of a Venusian palace. Sometimes… Good people do bad things.”

 

“These are  _ not  _ good people, your majesty-”

 

“Stop!” The Venusian’s voice echoes across the brig loudly. Its suddenness makes Wooyoung even jump back a bit. Mingi stands up again so he can look down at the PO, “Stop calling me that.” He says, more calmly.

 

“Wh- What? You two- you just went to the effort of showing me your crest, and now you-”

 

“I’ve renounced my status in order to live a free life.”

 

Seonghwa’s face wrinkles into a grimace, “You what?! Wh- Wh-why?! Why would you do that?”

 

“I don’t need to explain myself to you. I’m just letting you know so you don’t address me by a title I no longer hold.”

 

“How could you turn away from your entire life? From your people?” The prisoner takes a sharp intake of air. “What the fuck did that con artist of a ‘captain’ say to you?”

 

Mingi narrows his eyes. He opens his mouth to respond but closes it. Just as he so often does, the Petty Officer has once again managed to wriggle his way underneath someone’s skin. Almost all of the crew has experienced it - a condescending comment hitting just the  _ right  _ nerve. It’s like he knows exactly what to say, where it really hurts. (Wooyoung concedes that, at least for the original four, he  _ does  _ know. He’d been the one to type up most of their paperwork.)

 

“You don’t understand anything,” Mingi responds frankly.

 

“Wh- You have a- a duty to serve your country. Your people. You’re of royal blood-”   
  


“A pity you weren’t born the prince then. Since you seem so invested in the affairs of my people, my life,” Mingi spits bitterly. He turns to Wooyoung, “Thank you for the, uh, introduction. May I- may I go?”

 

“Of course,” Wooyoung nods. Mingi slinks off, arms crossed and shoulders slightly hunched. Wooyoung hadn’t seen the Venusian mad yet. He wonders how it’ll manifest. He has faith that the not-prince will get over things quickly, though. It’s just a vibe he gets from the guy.

 

Now alone with the ray of sunshine that is Petty Officer Park Seonghwa, Wooyoung sighs. He purses his lips with displeasure.

 

“Finish up.” 

 

“I’m done,” Seonghwa huffs. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

 

“Wh- Are you serious?” Wooyoung isn’t sure if he ought to laugh or feel exasperated. Is he  _ that  _ devastated that the ideal image of his pristine Venusian prince is ruined?

 

“God- I- I never believed what the tabloids said. They do tend to sensationalize, but-”

 

“But what?” The question jumps out of Wooyoung’s lips before he can stop it.

 

The PO, sensing the sort of advantage he has, quirks an eyebrow, “But nothing.”

 

Wooyoung’s brows furrow. But  _ what _ ? 

 

He loathes the fact, but in truth he wants to know. Bad. It never occurred to him before that Neith - just like any other colony or planet or even space station - would have things like magazines. It makes sense. Those rich, wealthy folk love gossip. They eat it up with their eggs benedict and caviar in the morning. When matters are settled in boardrooms instead of ballroom fights, gossip fills in the holes left by the dull, gilded nature of their lives. Obviously, the royal family would be a huge topic of focus in the country of Neith. They’ve probably been writing about Mingi since he was born.

 

“Hm,” Wooyoung grunts. “Figures you’d eat that shit up like everyone else.” 

 

“Magazines are good practice material for learning the language,” Seonghwa replies haughtily.

 

“Sure they are.” Ten credits says Seonghwa is secretly one of those types who follows royalty obsessively on the media. Wooyoung considers who he wants to take that bet against when the other speaks up.

 

“That one’s always been weak,” Seonghwa says.

 

Wooyoung scowls at him, “Excuse you?”

 

“Prince Song Mingi,” The PO purses his lips. “He’s had a few stories run about him. I’m… Sure you would love to know about his exploits back on Venus.” The blond smirks mirthlessly.

 

Exploits?

 

For the first time, it truly dawns on Wooyoung that, well, Mingi had lived an entire life on Venus. He’d lived his entire life in a position of power with limitless wealth and press surrounding him. People with that sort of status aren’t always held accountable for their actions. There’s a cute, wide-eyed innocence about him, but is that  _ really  _ who he is? Did he really want freedom, or was he running from something?

 

Running from marriage is obvious, but…

 

What if he was running from something more?

 

How much do they really know about Song Mingi and the type of person he is?

 

No.

 

Wooyoung perishes the thoughts, shooting them down one by one. He’s smarter than that. This is Seonghwa’s game - get in his head, make him doubt the people around him. It’s a common tactic, and Wooyoung feels ashamed letting the PO get even this far.

  
Do they really know Song Mingi?

 

No.

 

But does that mean he should suddenly question the guy’s every move or keep a paranoid watch on him?

 

Also no.

 

So what if he’s got a bit of a past? On ATEEZ,  _ everyone  _ does. Wooyoung can almost guarantee Mingi hasn’t done the worst shit, either. What do rich kids do, anyway? Sleep around? Party too much? 

 

The real question is:

 

Who gives a shit?

 

The Song Mingi of a week ago, a month ago, or a year ago is not the person on the ship now.

 

“Sure, Park,” Wooyoung responds sarcastically. The PO slides his tray onto the door’s slot, and it pushes through with a soft, mechanical sound.

 

“God- do you people give a shit about  _ anything _ ?” Seonghwa almost sounds like a disappointed parent. Of course, his disappointment is wrapped in about ten thick layers of disdain. “You’ve helped this man jeopardize a nation- hell perhaps an entire planet’s security. Centuries of effort and- and carefully composed alliances have probably gone up in flames because of this.”

 

“See, that’s where we differ from your kind,” Wooyoung bites back. “All you blackcoats care about is the order. Keeping all your most favorite ducks in a row. Do  _ you  _ hear  _ yourself _ ? Nowhere in your little rant do you mention Mingi. Song Mingi. The person. He’s a  _ person  _ before he’s a prince. What about  _ his  _ life?”

 

“Royalty is different. He’s a prince, his duty is to his people.”

 

“He’s a person with- with feelings and a soul- fuck’s sake,” Woo snatches the tray off of the ledge, done with hearing the PO’s callous bullshit. The prisoner reminds him constantly of why he’d dropped out. Occasionally, on his worst of worst days, he questions the decision. However, ever since boarding ATEEZ - since sharing the company of the esteemed Petty Officer - he didn’t feel any doubts whatsoever.

 

It’s a far departure from where he’d been when he first got thrown into that cell. That, now  _ that  _ was a low point. He was the first in there, then the kid got thrown in. They sat in silence for hours. Just him and his thoughts and some mute kid. He felt about ready to surrender - almost hoped to be put to death just so he could get it over with.

 

That cold, lonely cell feels so far away now, and Wooyoung can honestly, truly say that he has not a single regret. Not about dropping out, hell, not about getting put in jail.

 

In spite of the chaos that regularly reigns over his life, something feels right about being on ATEEZ.

 

* * *

 

“I did it!” Hongjoong cheers triumphantly. He beams at the Compass, its projection flickering with a relatively stable image. Coordinates blink invitingly in the open space of the bridge. The captain had been at it for a few hours doing just about anything he could think of to get the thing up and running. He’d blown on it, tapped it, smacked it, poked it and even pressed his cheek against the glass and whispered sweet nothings to the damn thing. Yunho had stopped in, worried about him, and Wooyoung even sat in for a bit “just to watch, because it’s kind of hilarious”. After actually banging his forehead against the glass dome, it somehow stabilized.

 

Hongjoong feels resigned to the fact that he may never know how the hell the thing works. Half the time he thinks it just waits until the captain’s at the end of his wits to work - like it’s taunting him. Joong decides he ought not question a good thing. It’s working (and god knows for how long it’ll last) so he’s grateful.

 

The captain crosses over to the pilot’s console to alert crew on the intercom, “Yo, I got coordinates- wait, I mean-” he clears his throat. “Hello everyone, this is your captain speaking. I am… Overjoyed to inform you that we have stable coordinates to put in the nav console. Would the pilot and the first mate-” He declared Wooyoung first mate some days prior. It was mostly in jest, but he’s actually come to trust the guy. “-please meet me on the bridge?” “Click.”

 

Hongjoong grins and plops down into one of the captain’s seats, spinning around idly. After a few minutes, the two summoned arrive. Yunho takes the seat next to Joong, and Wooyoung leans against the canis, arms loosely slung around his neck from behind.

 

“Nice!” Yunho grins. “I was starting to get worried about you. I thought I heard you talking to it…”

 

“He definitely was,” Wooyoung smirks.

 

Hongjoong opts to ignore their teasing, “Anyways- For real, though, we got some genuine coordinates. I have a good feeling about it this time.”

 

“You mean we won’t get chased off of a planet this time?” Yunho quips.

 

“D’you put ‘em in yet?” Wooyoung asks.

 

Hongjoong shakes his head, “I was waiting for you guys. It felt wrong to just set the course alone.”

 

“Awww.” “How nice.” The two respond.

 

The captain types the coordinates into the pilot’s console. The prompt on the projected screen reads: “Searching…”, leaving the three in suspense for a few minutes. The screen comes to life, a panel with an image accompanying paragraphs of text.

 

“Oh, shit. I know this place,” Wooyoung raises his brows.

 

Hongjoong furrows his own, reading aloud, “BH Space Colony. Population, approximately four million… Established 3003. Primary industry: luzidium mining and refinement… Huh. Another space colony.” The captain turns to his first mate, “What’s it like, there? Is it a lot like KQ?”

 

Wooyoung purses his lips as he thinks, “Well… It sort of is. I don’t remember it well, to be honest. Just spent a brief time there after leaving the academy. It’s not too dissimilar from KQ. Pretty diverse, but…”

 

“But what?” Joong asks concernedly. There’s never good things after “but”s. Never.

 

“Hm. I don’t remember,” Wooyoung chuckles sheepishly. “There’s something about it that’s like jarringly different.”

 

“It’s jarring but you can’t recall what it is?” Yunho raises a brow dubiously.

 

“I- I wasn’t there long, really. I feel like it has to do with the luzidium mining- see, look here,” Wooyoung points to the database entry. “It’s not your average floating colony. It was actually built out from a cluster of luzidium rich dwarves. If you venture to the ‘core’ of the colony, you’ll find solid ground.”

 

“Huh,” Joong nods. It’s interesting. Sometimes he forgets how innovative the human race has been with their interstellar expansion. How they evolved, adapted, and invented for the sake of surviving in new environments. It’s incredible. No two colonies or planets are quite the same, every one has its own, distinct quirks.

 

“It’s a colony, though,” Yunho frowns. “That means there’ll be Coalition presence there for sure. It’s not some independent planet like the other two we’ve been to.”

 

“Fuck, that’s true,” Hongjoong breathes out. He eyes the Compass’s projected star map again. It beams brightly above the glass globe, unflinchingly displaying those coordinates. There has to be a reason, he thinks. There _has_ to be. “What do you think the risk of us getting caught is?”

 

“Wh-” “Wait- you’re serious?”

 

“Yeah, I am,” The captain says stubbornly. “Compass wants us there for a reason, and like I said: I have a good gut feeling about this one.”

 

“How’d your gut feel about the last two?” Wooyoung asks dryly.

 

Joong narrows his eyes at the other, “Not as good- okay? Look, just… You trust me, right?”

 

“Right.” “Of course.”

 

“So,” Hongjoong turns to Wooyoung again, “How heavy is security around these parts? Gimme a guess.”

 

Wooyoung looks up in contemplation for a second before answering, “Well… From my recollection, it wasn’t too heavily guarded. We might have a bounty on our heads, that’ll make things harder. It’s not high _high_ security - not that I remember, anyway. Even if they scan the ship as we come in, I disassociated the systems from any sort of incriminating ID.”

 

“So, our biggest risk is our faces being recognized?” Hongjoong asks. 

 

Wooyoung nods, “Basically.”

 

“I think we can handle that,” The captain says with an air of finality. “Yunho, how far is it?”

 

“Uhm,” The canis glances between the database entry and the starmap. He taps something into his side of the pilot’s console before answering, “Looks like it’s a little warp hop away. We can jump, and we’ll be there within the hour.”

 

“Huh. That is close. Well, let’s notify the crew. Jump in an hour, that means we’ll be there in about two, right?”

 

“About so,” Yunho nods.

 

“Notify the crew,” Joong commands cooly. He gets up from his chair, stretching languidly. Without thinking about it, he’d been hunching over the Compass for hours. His face scrunches as his bones and joints crack from the extension. “We jump in an hour. I’m gonna shower.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Yunho says with a grin and a wave toward the captain’s departing figure.

 

* * *

 

Ming and San clamor toward the front of the bridge, ducking their heads to get the best look out of the window. The two attempt to squeeze between the chairs at the pilot’s console. Mingi ends up half in Yunho’s lap while San perches half of his ass where Wooyoung’s sitting (half pushing the human off his seat). Neither are very used to jumping or riding in starships or, well, really anything about their new lifestyle. The pair of them look like children, watching wide-eyed with fascination as ATEEZ approaches the outer parameter of BH Colony. Yunho casts a few fond glances toward Mingi, and Joong tries to suppress his gag reflex in lieu of catching said glances. Seriously. Get a room.

 

“Fuck,” Hongjoong breathes out. His eyes fall on a column of gates ahead of them. They look not unlike the Venusian ones - horizontal structures with little gaps between for ships to go through. Unlike Venus, these aren’t equipped with lasergates which gives the captain a bit of reassurance. Queues of ships jut out from each one, no doubt people waiting to get admittance into the colony proper.

 

Fuck.

 

“That a checkpoint I see?” The captain asks Wooyoung who’s engaged in an unspoken struggle to stay in his chair.

 

“Um, looks like it,” Wooyoung answers with a grimace. Joong isn’t sure if the grimace is from the checkpoint ahead or the siren wriggling around next to him. Suddenly, Hongjoong gets the feeling he’s fifth wheeling, and he  _ despises _ it.

 

“Database didn’t say anything about needing ID or anything like that…” Joong frowns.

 

“They’ll probably give us the Venus treatment. Ask if we have any citizens onboard. Maybe ask us what we’re doing there- what are we doing there, by the way?”

 

“Uh- We’re jobbers. Looking for work. Seems legit, right? I mean, people flock to colonies for work. Nothing worth note, really. If they ask, we do…” Hongjoong glances around the bridge like it’ll give him answers. “Deliveries.” He concludes. It’s a combat freighter, after all. Emphasis on freighter. Never mind that the model is one used almost exclusively by the military. That shouldn’t put out too many flags… Right?

 

“Okay. Delivery boys. Got it,” Wooyoung nods.

 

“Should we make fake names?” Mingi asks, grinning way too brightly for someone considering a fake identity.

 

“No, that’s- that’s fine. You of all people shouldn’t worry about that,” Hongjoong answers him.

 

“Which gate do you wanna go in through?” Yunho asks, gently slowing the vessel as they get closer to the gates.

 

“Uh- That one,” Hongjoong gestures to one a few gates above their position. The structure looks new and pristine, and there’s barely a line. He wonders why everyone isn’t going through that one - or the other ones for that matter. Congestion clogs the lower gates, but nobody’s bothering with the higher ones. Are the higher regions more residential or something? Joong figures they’ll find out in due time, and Yunho steers them toward the gate Joong had pointed to.

 

In no time ATEEZ pulls up to the gate, slowing down in the middle of a pristine looking gate. The tech looks new and state of the art, milky white metal gleaming in the light of the stars around. A projected red stop sign flashes in front of them, prompting them to stop.

 

Just beyond the gate is a cluster of gleaming buildings and floating islands. Even from afar, the place looks gorgeous, pristine even. It reminds Hongjoong a bit of Venus. Man-made stars glow above, providing gorgeous, naturalesque light. Though it’s less conspicuously rich, the greenery on the islands looks impeccably kept, and the buildings are prettily built with interesting, comely architecture. It makes the captain eager to go through and explore already. A few ships float between the structures at a calm pace - it’s a stark contrast from the hustle and bustle of KQ. It looks nice.

 

“Whoa.” “Pretty.” “I wanna go there-” “Which one of those islands d’you think has food on it.” The crew erupts with excited murmurs.

 

“Incoming call,” ATEEZ’s robotic voice softly informs them. (Mingi gasps, absolutely  _ thrilled _ by the entire thing - he’d never experienced any of it, after all. The rest of the crew hushes.)

 

Yunho answers it, and a soundwave flickers to life just above the pilot’s console.

 

“Good morning,” A bored, nasally voice echoes clearly through the line. Even their comm tech must be new, the voice is devoid of any static or fuzz whatsoever. “Any residents on board?”

 

“N-No,” Hongjoong answers. He swallows nervously. Though he can’t see the person manning the gate, he can picture them, black coat and all. They’re so close, just meters away from the gate’s structure, from where a genuine blackcoat is sitting, speaking to them with a blassez attitude. If he could just get a look at them, would he know who they are? Are their pictures posted? They do have mugshots, after all. Is there a bounty on their head?

 

“State your business,” The blackcoat gate operator says.

 

“We’re jobbers,” The captain replies.

 

“Oh. Who are you contracted with currently?”

 

“Um- We’re looking for contracts actually.”

 

“Come again?”

 

“We- we don’t have work. We’re looking for it.”

 

“What kind of work is it you do?”

 

“We do deliveries. Private couriers in-colony.”

 

The line goes quiet, and Joong wonders if it’s dead for a minute. He hears a muffled, distant groan, and though he’s not seen the person’s face, he’s almost certain they’re rolling their eyes right now. But why? Don’t people come to colonies to work all the time? Traversing jobbers are practically the lifeblood of floating colonies like this.

 

“This passage point is for access to the upper residences and establishments only. If you do not have a contract or appointment here, then you must pass through one of the… Lower gates.”

 

All in the bridge exchange baffled looks.

 

“Can you- would you kindly reiterate that?” Hongjoong asks.

 

“You all have made a mistake. Please see yourselves to the passage point Sub-Level D- if you didn’t notice before, the points  _ are _ labelled,” Condescension drips from the gatekeeper’s voice like they’d just tried to push a door labeled “pull”. “Yes, Sub-Level D, that ought to suit your lot fine. Thank you and have a good day.”

  
With that, the line dies abruptly with a soft click. The crew blinks confusedly at one another. Comprehension comes to them sluggishly slow, and it’s Yunho who’s the first to speak out:

 

“Did we just get… Turned away?”

 

“I think the proper way to put it is  _ redirected _ ,” Wooyoung says.

 

“Well that explains why there was no line here,” San mutters.

 

“Where do you think Sub-Level D is, anyway?” Mingi asks.

 

Hongjoong glances at the gate they’d gone through as Yunho slowly backs out. It’s labeled with large block lettering that looks freshly painted: “Level C”.

 

“Uh-” The captain looks down. The level below them is labeled: “Level D”, and the one below that, “Level E”. “I think it’s down.” Joong says dumbly.

 

All in the bridge glance as far down as the viewing window lets them. They can’t see past Level H.

 

“Yeah,” Yunho says. “ _ Way _ down.”

 

“Guess we’re, uh, going to Sub-Level D, then,” Hongjoong huffs. It’s a minor setback. The lines lower down are long, but it’s not a big deal.

 

How bad can it be?   
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

“Permission to speak freely, captain?” Mingi asks.

 

“Mingi you don’t need permission to talk. This isn’t the Galactic Navy,” Joong scoffs.

 

“Okay- ‘cause this blows my asshole,” The Venusian gestures to the endless line in front of them.

 

Hongjoong heaves a sigh. He would’ve probably put it more eloquently, but he’s gotta concede. Waiting in line does, in fact, blow his asshole. It’d been over an hour since they’d been relegated all the way down to Sub-Level D. Clearly, they weren’t the only ones. The line was probably over a hundred deep when they hopped in. One would think getting waved through to Sub-Level D wouldn’t take very long. If there’s one thing Joong’s figured out, it’s that the gatekeepers there aren’t nearly as discerning. Still, it seems like every two ships someone stops up the entire operation somehow. Nobody’s gotten missiles shot at them or had police cruisers chase them down, so that’s a plus. A few unfortunate souls have even gotten sent further down.

 

As ATEEZ floats nearer to the Sub-Level, the crew’s impression of BH drastically changes. Up higher things are spaced out, particularly planned and well manicured. If Hongjoong had to describe the lower levels of the place in one word, it would be dense. Dense, dense, _dense_. Even from afar he can make out the chromatic neon lights and burning amber street torches. There is no pretty stars giving them natural, sun-like warmth and no apparent skyfield to simulate a planet’s sky. The buildings look old - hell, even the gate looks older, more worn down. Where the upper-levels boast pristine white and freshly painted letters, Joong can make out crust and wear on the lower gates. He swears there’s even a few shoddily patched up bullet holes. The floating structures that make up the depths of BH look like ratty, hand-woven quilts compared to the immaculately manufactured ones up above.

 

San and Wooyoung gave up about half an hour in, disappearing down below to play card games or nap. Jongho popped in, got bored, and popped back out, leaving Mingi, Yunho, and Joong to man the fort. In spite of the steep downturn of their luck, Mingi looks no less interested. Though slightly exasperated at the wait, he still eyes the colony with fascination. It’s like he’s angry because he just wants to get in there and explore. Hongjoong finds something cute about that, but the closer they get, the more he thinks they ought to keep their fledgling little adventurer on a short leash. From how clustered everything is together, Hongjoong pictures there’s a lot of dark alleys and little nooks for sketchy types to hide.

 

Well, _sketchier_ types.

 

“What’s the plan when we get in there?” Yunho asks.

 

Ah. The plan. Right.

 

“Let’s see what we need for the ship - groceries, fuel, Mingi needs more clothes,” The captain replies.

 

“Yunho’s fit pretty good,” Mingi remarks, his eyes not leaving the viewing window of the bridge.

 

“Food,” The canis hums.

 

“We just ate breakfast,” Hongjoong chides.

 

“Yeah- Like hours ago.”

 

“Like two hours ago.”

 

“Me hungry,” Yunho stubbornly responds.

 

Sometimes, Hongjoong swears he feels more like a babysitter than anything else. He rolls his eyes and opts to ignore the pilot as ATEEZ eases closer to the threshold of the gate.

 

After what feels like forever, they’re finally the ones front and center. The telltale red stop symbol is projected in front of them, but the image is fuzzy and glitchy - no better than the Compass.

 

“Incoming call,” ATEEZ calmly intonates.

 

Hongjoong’s brow furrows as he presses the button to accept it.

 

“State your business,” A flat voice on the other side of the line grunts. They sound even less thrilled than the other gate agent.

 

“We’re, uh, jobbers-“

 

“Very well. Docking spots are still available in Lot eight-seven.” “Click.”

 

With that, the jittery projection of the stop sign ceases, and they’re invited through.

 

“Uh-“ The captain mutters dumbly, mouth dropped in shock.

 

“Why do they even _have_ gate agents?” Mingi asks, shocked. It’s obvious he’s not used to things being so loosey goosey. The person up above is probably more his speed - thorough, snobby, and strict.

 

Yunho pouts, “So we waited in line for that?!”

 

“They probably snap pictures of the ships or something,” Hongjoong grumbles. He says so more to console himself than out of firm belief. In truth, he’s pissed too. What the hell, BH?!

 

“The guy mentioned a docking lot,” Yunho says. “Guess I’ll find and we can figure our shit out.”

 

“What’s a docking lot?” Mingi asks.

 

“Oh, Mingi, Mingi, Mingi…” The captain sighs. His thoughts trail off as Yunho explains the different places that ships dock - hangars, floating islands called lots, garages. Hongjoong wonders what motivated the Compass to guide them to a place like this.

 

Is there something in the upper levels that jogged its memory, prompting it to spit out the location? Or is it in the lower levels, whatever the thing needs? Hongjoong somehow doubts the lower levels will be of any help, but he could be wrong. The place looks pretty slummy, and sometimes the most interesting stuff turns up in spots like that.

 

ATEEZ weaves through the chaotic bustle of Sub-Section D traffic. Unlike KQ, there genuinely seems to be no flow of traffic at all. The flow of traffic is: go where you can to get where you’re going. Ships bob and weave and whip around one another, some zipping around way too quickly and others ambling along at a sluggish pace. It’s like trying to swim around a school of fish - except every fish is going somewhere different. And is giant and can kill you if they collide with you head on.

 

* * *

 

“That’ll do, thanks much,” The short man at Lot 87’s pay station thanks Hongjoong after relieving him of thirty credits. For twenty-four hours’ parking, it’s not too bad. He supposes there are perks to the Sub-Section.

 

The crew bids the attendant farewell before stepping onto the sidewalk on one of the Sub-Sections major hubs. ATEEZ gradually plods in no direction in particular, heads turning and mouths ajar, gawking.

 

“Stick close to me.” “Holy shit.” “Uh- That thing’s not gonna crash, right?” “I don’t like how it smells here…” “What’s that?” “You alright, San? You look a little sick?” “There’s no water- how is this sidewalk wet.”

 

BH is… Different. Different than anything Hongjoong has ever known. No doubt it’s overwhelming to the siren San and visiting Venusian Mingi. It’s an immense departure from either of those places. Hongjoong realizes that his first impression had been correct: BH is dense. Scarily dense.

 

Neon signs stack on top of one another, jutting out of the high-rise buildings, squashed together in every which way like jagged teeth. In spite of the GC’s enforced universal language, tons of the signs bear symbols and letterings Hongjoong can’t recognize or understand. Not a single light on the massive floating island they’d landed on looks natural. A few stray rays of faux sunlight sneak in through the tiny gaps between floating city-structures, but aside from that it’s all halogen, neon, LED, and amber. Sub-Section D exists in a state of perpetual night. Steam billows up from sewer grates, and the slick sidewalks distort all of the colors, smearing them into abstract patterns on the paths underfoot. They pass a few alleys - some impossibly dark, some illuminated by barrel fires with blubbering figures huddled around them. Hongjoong catches a few shifting shadows in his peripherals. He tries not to pay them too much, keeps his wits about him and minds his pockets.

 

The floating islands and buildings drift so close, Hongjoong is fairly certain he could touch the adjacent one if he reached. They bob idly in space, loosely bound by artificial gravity. Not all of them even appear level, and when a nearby building tilts in the distance, Hongjoong braces himself for impact. Miraculously, the scarcely secured structures never actually collide.

 

People move much like the ships - with purpose and without consideration for personal space. Everyone looks rushed, frantic even. Hongjoong wonders where the hell all of these people are going. They’re a diverse lot - mostly humans, some miscellaneous humanoids and reptilians (of all hybrids, they’re the ones that always seem to get around). Nobody in the subsection puts out an impression of wealth or dignity. The stark opposite of Venus, there are no glittering, tailored suits or twinkling jewels. People are swaddled, huddled to themselves beneath tattered cloaks or too-big trenches. It’s like they’re protecting themselves from the outside world, wearing as many layers of fabric between them and the air as possible. Joong finds it shocking considering how damn _muggy_ it is. He wonders if some of the faint, noxious odor he detects is in part sweat.

 

“-Ello, you look like a smart man, why not come here and have a chat, yeah?” A hooded figure beckons one of ATEEZ - Mingi, it turns out - to join him in a dark alley.

 

“Uh-“ The Venusian freezes, shocked. Hongjoong glances at the younger man and sees the color drained from his face. It looks like the young prince has gotten his first genuine reality check.

 

“No, thank you,” Yunho steps between the strange character and Mingi, looping an arm around the Venusian’s shoulders and guiding him away.

 

They get a lot of that. It’s like the locals can smell the “outsider” on them. Maybe it’s the way they carry themselves, how their eyes look in front of themselves as opposed to down on the ground. Or perhaps a few are savvy enough to recognize the rarity that is a Venusian. Maybe even the siren - though that seems less likely.

 

People peddle trinkets on shoddy blankets and shuffle cards atop improvised tables (“I swear it’s fair game- I wouldn’t _dream_ of cheating you” - they insist). An unsettling many are so forthright as to make catcalls, sniffing out the newcomers like hounds.

 

“Hey cutie, you new here?” “Damn, _legs-_ “ “Hey prettyboy, how ‘bout you ditch the dog for a real man.” “Arf- arf- arf-!” “Hey pretty baby.” “Sup, whore? Need some company tonight?” “Yo tiny you got a daddy or nah?”

 

Jongho, who’d had a pout fixed on his face since they’d stepped onto the street, turns to Hongjoong next to him, “I think he was talking to you.”

 

Joong scowls, “Excuse me?”

 

“He said ‘tiny’- I think that one was for you.”

 

“Wh- N-No way. It was probably for you,” The captain argues.

 

“Nah, I don’t think so.”

 

“It was obviously for _me_ ,” Mingi laughs half-heartedly. Hongjoong admires the guy, he’s faring pretty well for being thrown into such a drastically different environment. Even though Mingi’s face and outer manner say “humored” just beneath his eyes scream the words: “HELP ME”. He’d accidentally kicked a can earlier and the sound scared him so much, he clung to Yunho like a child.

 

“Nobody’s said anything to me,” Wooyoung remarks with a puff of air.

 

“Why do you sound disappointed by that?” Jongho asks.

 

San smirks, “I can call you a whore if that makes you feel better.”

 

Wooyoung puts on a fake pout, nodding, “Yeah, a lil’ bit.”

 

“Okay, whore,” The grin that spreads across San’s face can only be described as cheshire. If Wooyoung catches the implication, he doesn’t let on. Hongjoong can’t help wondering if Wooyoung is oblivious, emotionally braindead, or just that good at acting. He strikes the thoughts from his head because, fuck no, he doesn’t want to get involved with those two. Not right now. Not when he’s in a new, shady-ass place and has to figure out why they’re there at all.

 

Yunho halts without warning, and half of ATEEZ suddenly bump into him. They mutter curses and little yelps, questioning why the hell he stopped.

 

 _“Grbrrbbrbrbbrbrb…”_ A soft rumbling noise echoes from the canis.

 

Hongjoong’s face contorts with horror, “What the-“

 

“Hungry,” Yunho says, looking sheepishly at the captain.

 

It has been a while since they’d had breakfast. Plus finding a spot to lay low, strategize, and maybe learn a bit from locals isn’t a bad idea either. Among the myriad smells, not all are bad either. A few food carts pepper the walkway, showing off skewered meats and heaping noodle bowls.

 

“Okay,” Hongjoong sighs in defeat. “We can find somewhere to-“

 

“I smell one that seems real good!” Yunho hops up happily, pointing ahead of them.

 

“Alright, then just show us-“

 

“It’s this way!” Without further prompting, the canis excitedly trots in the direction of whatever he’d smelled. Hongjoong shakes his head, happily following the other regardless. He trusts Yunho’s nose enough.

 

Not long after, ATEEZ’s crew steps through a worn curtain into Yunho’s choice eating establishment. The busy chatter of the street fades when they cross the threshold, giving way to the low, general buzz of conversation. The establishment isn’t big nor is it fancy. It’s not even completely clean, Hongjoong is pretty sure, but it looks good enough. (That is to say, it’s not forthrightly _scary_.) Assorted cushions surround low tables, and mismatched place settings sit atop the scratched, faux wood surfaces. There’s barely enough room to get around between the tables, but somehow the few wait staff manage. A long bar stretches across the back, and a couple of people stand behind it, wiping glasses and chatting up customers amicably. Everyone working looks similar: round faces, pointed ears, downturned eyes. Family, he thinks.

 

There’s a coziness about it. Unlike the streets where many seem predatory, the people inside are relaxed. They sip whatever drinks are in their chipped, cloudy cups relaxedly, laughing and conversing. It’s normal, and almost familiar to Hongjoong. He hadn’t realized how long it’d been since he stepped foot inside a little family restaurant.

 

“Welcome in, sit wherever you want,” A waitress - an older woman with round cheeks, silver streaked hair and a cybernetic hand - instructs them. ATEEZ complies, finding a spot in a back corner, away from the door and away from anywhere they’d garner too much attention. With permission from staff, they push together a couple of tables before settling onto the big cushions.

 

“Wh- Holy shit,” Wooyoung gasps when he picks up the menu he’d been handed. He squints, pressing his face closer to the faded text. “What the…”

 

Hongjoong quirks an eyebrow confusedly. He glances at his own menu. The selection looks decent, basic and comforting. Seems like they mostly deal in ramen which sounds good to him. The stuff is cheap, filling, comforting and good as hell.

 

Except one part of that familiar equation is missing: the cheap part.

 

“Tw-twenty credits for ramen,” Yunho shudders as he scans his own menu.

 

The captain’s eyes go wide, and the prices all seem just as inflated. Soup is fifteen credits. A bowl with meat is closer to thirty. It’s insane. What the hell!? How can a place so rundown charge such exorbitant prices?

 

“Does it grant eternal life or something?” Wooyoung asks bitterly.

 

“This area’s economy must be wrought with inflation…” Jongho muses aloud. “Though I have no idea why.”

 

Their waitress - who’d apparently overheard them - sighs. Hongjoong jumps, surprised by her sudden arrival and ready to apologize for their rudeness. However, the woman doesn’t seem at all upset by their conversation. She drops little tea cups in front of each of them, pouring steaming, aromatic into the cups as she explains:

 

“He’s right,” She says. “It’s the cost of living ‘round here.” Her manner falters a bit. “The people from Above keep driving up the rent around here.”

 

“From… Above?” Mingi asks curiously.

 

The woman nods, “You know, the upper levels. Surely you saw ‘em coming in, right? All built up and new- white ‘n stuff.”

 

“R-Right.” “Uh-huh.” A few crew nod in in understanding.

 

“So wait- they’re driving the prices up?” Hongjoong asks. Now he’s curious. “They own the real estate down here?”

 

Their waitress nods, “Sure do. They own just about everything major. The chains, the buildings- hell, even the government and coalition officials. You didn’t hear that from me, though.”

 

“But- Why would they do that if you can’t afford it?” Mingi asks. Oh sweet, naive Mingi. Shouldn’t he have studied economics? Hongjoong wonders. Of course, the economy of Venus is drastically different than that of a Colony. He probably thinks elected officials have their citizens’ best interests in mind, and that the wealthy have no incentive to screw over those less fortunate than themselves. Bless his soul.

 

“You lot are visitors, right?” The woman asks. They all nod affirmitively - it’s not like it wasn’t obvious in the first place. “Well, I suggest you not stick around too long.”

 

“Huh-” “What-” “Why?”

 

“Why’s that?” The captain queries.

 

“You’ll get the sickness.”

 

“The what?” Hongjoong’s heart seizes up with panic at that.

 

“Y’see, this colony’s different. She’s mostly floating nowadays, but BH was built around massive asteroids first.”

 

“I heard that,” The captain replies.

 

“They settled around the asteroids ‘cause they’re rich in lentumite.” Lentumite, an unrefined cousin of luzidium, one of the most valuable minerals in the universe. Also one of the most toxic resources, too. Luzidium’s bad enough - sometimes people will put trace amounts in their drugs or drinks so they can trip. Lentumite, though, that’s on a whole other level. Ingesting the stuff would result in more than just a little trip. It’d melt a person’s insides. People who handle it usually wear protective gear, and getting sick isn’t something that happens by chance. It’s an inevitability with prolonged exposure. The only way to stave off the nastiest symptoms is by medication.

 

“I see,” The pieces start slotting into the puzzle for Hongjoong. Regardless, he listens closely as the woman continues.

 

“Yup. Used to be a major mining colony, this. The asteroids used to be real rich - the original settlers are all barons now. Nowadays it’s cheaper to live here Under. The lower you are, the cheaper it is.” And the more dangerous it is, Hongjoong thinks to himself. “All them fancy types moved on up- literally.”

 

“So why’s that driving your prices up?” Wooyoung asks with raised brows.

 

“Well, more of those rich types are moving to the colony, and, well, they’re eyeing the real estate here.”

 

“They’re trying to push you down,” Hongjoong observes aloud.

 

“They’re not just trying,” The waitress frowns. She shakes her head and lets out a huff of air, placing her hands on her hips and standing up straighter. “But that’s enough of that sad stuff. I’ll give you a minute to order.”

 

“Thank you.” “Yes ma’am.” “Right.”

 

A cloud hangs over the ATEEZ crew as their sunny waitress departs. She speaks so frankly about the situation, but the more they think about it, the more depressing it is. It’s a tale as old as time, as far as the captain knows. Rich people want, rich people take. When hostile takeovers went out of style, they adopted new, “softer” strategies. Instead of using weapons or private soldiers to kick people from their territories, they used high taxes and fancy gated communities. It’s not something Joong is well acquainted with - he’d only actually seen a gated community once in passing. But he’d heard enough about it.

 

“Why don’t they just invest in sealing off the asteroids?” Mingi asks to the table as they glance over their menus. “That’d prevent the toxic fumes from drifting up into the colonies - no?”

 

“They probably don’t give a shit,” Wooyoung remarks callously. “If I had to guess, those mines have run mostly dry. But instead of taking care of them, they just left them to deteriorate.”

 

San scrunches his nose in disgust, “How could the Colony’s officials do that? Let their environment degrade to such a point that it harms their people?”

 

“Because the residents of the lower sectors aren’t ‘their people’,” Hongjoong says with a sneer. Mingi looks at him, absolutely baffled. Of course he’s baffled. Where he’s from, there is no concept of an upper and lower class, no struggle, no tension between them. All he sees is people being hurt, and he assumes they’re all on the same level, of the same importance to those up above.

 

Seriously. Bless his soul.

 

“Wh- That’s savage,” The siren says disapprovingly. His brows furrow as he glances at his menu, and he asks, “You don’t think it’ll affect the food, do you?”

 

“We’re not that close to the mines. It’s long-term exposure that’l harm us. A few meals won’t hurt us,” Wooyoung reassures the other.

 

“Captain, can we afford to eat here?” Yunho leans over to ask Hongjoong in a quiet voice.

 

“Barely,” Hongjoong breathes out. They can find work later, maybe even ask their kindly waitress for some leads. They’ll need to with the cost of stuff there. Even so, he’s not one to deprive his good, loyal crew of what they want. If they’re gonna start sniffing around for jobs and Compass leads, it’s best to do it on a good stomach. “It’s fine,” He tells the pilot with finality.

 

“Alright,” The waitress returns to their vicinity five minutes later. She balances a tray with cups on one hand, her other perched on her hip. After going back and forth,they’d all decided what to get (already opting into trying one anothers’ food). The place smells great, and it seems like there’s no bad options which is encouraging. For the prices, it _better_ be good. “You fellas ready to order?”

 

“Yes,” Yunho perks up immediately. “I’d like the-”

 

Before he can finish, their waitress coughs. It’s not just a little cough. It’s a miserable one - the type that rattles through the entire body and scratches your insides. Her face scrunches and her body locks up, reflexively hunching over. The poor thing sounds pained, the sound wet and sickly. She lapses into a fit, and a particularly violent one sends the tray in her hand clattering to the ground.

 

 _“Thud!!” “Clang-! Thud-! Craaash-! Splish.”_ Cups hit the ground, water puddling at her feet.

 

“Oh my god.” “Are you okay?!” Mingi rushes up from his seat first to take the woman’s side. Yunho follows seconds later, and the two study her concernedly.

 

“Golly,” She says hoarsely when she recovers from the attack. “Oh- Oh goodness, I’m sorry fellas.”

 

“No.” “Not at all.” “Are you alright, miss?”

 

Mingi squats down a bit so he’s closer to her height and frowns, “You ought to sit down if you’re sick. You shouldn’t be working.”

 

She smiles wryly at that, clearly coming to understand that the Venusian is a bit naive.

 

Shaking her head, she protests, “Gotta work to eat. Gotta eat to live, you know.” Her gaze turns down to the floor, and soft splishing noises sound out as she steps in the newly formed pool on the floor. “I’m really sorry about that, lemme clean this up-”

 

“No need,” San says. He sits up and leans forward.

 

A tiny ripple echoes across the puddle, and it begins to warp slightly. The edges recede inward, lifting off of the ground until not a single drop of water remains on the floor. A perfect little orb of liquid floats just above the worn tile. It slowly finds its way into an empty teapot on a table that hadn’t been cleared off yet - drawing eyes all the while.

 

The quiet hum of conversation momentarily ceases, and a shocked silence ensues. Every set of eyes in the place focuses on the siren who, either unnoticing or uncaring, sat back casually after dispensing of the spilled water.

 

“What the fuck?” Jongho’s the first to speak up. His words seem to break the spell, and the gawking diners return to their own conversations, whispering fervently.

 

“Holy- That’s amazing!” The waitress gasps, her eyes darting between the (now dry) floor and the siren.

 

“Hm?” San tilts his head in confusion.

 

Hongjoong’s MO is usually to keep a low profile. He thought that keeping their heads down was a policy that went without him having to say. He realizes that _maybe_ he’s wrong on that, and they’re not all on the same page. The captain grips the bridge of his nose between his fingers, feeling a headache coming on.

 

“You think you can do that on more water?” The waitress asks suddenly.

  
“What?” It’s Hongjoong’s turn to be confused.

 

The misses wrings her hands sheepishly and bats her eyelashes, “Y’see, we had a bit of a leak a couple nights ago in the storage room, and it’s been real wet…”

 

“And you expect my siren to spirit away the water like it’s nothing?”

 

“Your meal will be free,” She returns with a raised eyebrow.

 

Free meal?

 

_Free meal?_

 

Hongjoong can feel his crew leering at him like little drills boring into his soul. He glances at San - he’s the one who’d be handling it, after all. With all the talk the sirens had about humans taking advantage, he’s hesitant to once again use his gifts for capital gain. However, gracious (and hungry), the siren nods affirmatively.

 

“I’ll take a look at it,” San says. The woman beams. “But first, I’d like to order…”

 

* * *

 

Hongjoong wonders if laying low was ever an option.

 

It feels like it wasn’t with the crowd clamoring to ATEEZ just outside the ramen joint they’d gotten a free meal at. True to her word, the waitress waived their bill in exchange for San’s services. San went back and did god knows what with all their water (“It was like a lake!” he said). They ate. A lot. The portions served were generous, noodles heaped in massive bowls, covered with delicious, fatty broth with floating veggies. The family had been so grateful they threw in free tea and ice cream.

 

By the time ATEEZ’s crew had stumbled out, full and content, Joong’s pretty sure they’d each gained a kilo.

 

However, their contentment met a hasty end.

 

Some way, somehow, _somebody_ told the entire world about Choi San - “water wizard” extraordinaire (that’s what they’d branded him). Someone asked him to do “a trick”. Surprisingly, the prideful siren played nice. He managed to coax some steam from a nearby grate into a a double helix shape. Big mistake.

 

And so, Captain Kim Hongjoong finds himself fighting off a migraine as a crowd of people practically throw cash at ATEEZ like they’re a travelling troupe of strippers.

 

“Can you do that again?” “Make the water move!” “No way this is real, there’s gotta be a trick.” “Make it into a heart!” “I’ll give you three if you-”

“U-Uh, we’re really not interested in taking your money-” Hongjoong holds his hands up insistently as a barrier between the mob and themselves. It’s crazy how they just convened in the matter of seconds - and how persistent they are.

 

“I dunno about that, captain. Let’s not be so hasty,” Jongho remarks.

  
“Wh- Wh- Please don’t shove,” Hongjoong huffs. He turns over his shoulder to glance at the siren who is contently making shapes out of steam. “S-San come on, you don’t have to.”

 

“It’s kind of a good brain exercise, though,” The siren muses aloud, mostly ignoring the craziness around him. He looks focused, hands clasped and fidgeting in front of him as he concentrates on steam from the nearby grate. “Captain, I don’t mind at all.”

 

“But the- the- exploitation-”

 

“This benefits us all,” San says coolly. However, the sweat forming on his brow worries Hongjoong. He can’t pay it much mind though, because soon more people crowd around. Bills are literally thrown at them - and for what? Entertainment. Hongjoong supposes a few tips are cheap for entertainment. It’s definitely not as pricey as a movie theater or ticket to the opera (assuming there’s even something like that in BH).  Still, after hearing about their cost of living, how are these people so ready to part with their hard-earned cash?

 

He thinks back to his own upbringing. Even though they struggled a lot, his and Yunho’s parents always tried to scrounge up enough to do something. He and Yunho went to the park, they saw a few movies in their time, even went to a fancy museum in the big city nearby. Thinking back on those times, the captain supposes it’s sort of a matter of pride for these people. It’s like a personal insistence that one’s challenges should never get in the way of their quality of life. Sure, times are tough, but that doesn’t mean people can’t or aren’t allowed to have nice things, go out once in awhile, or tip their entertainers.

 

Hongjoong decides to play along. He nods to his fellow crew, and they form up a sort of perimeter around their shipmate. San doesn’t notice at all. He heavily focuses on the water in front of him. The captain swears he hadn’t looked so pallid just minutes prior. However, the unnatural bluish light coming off of a nearby signpost might be at fault for that.

  
The captain scans the crowd, watching out for nefarious characters. He notices something he hadn’t seen before. Everyone’s very covered up, but bits and pieces stick out from their misshapen coverings. An arm here, the top of a face there, a nose jutting out from a heavy hood. One person has a cybernetic hand. It looks neither nice nor new, but it appears functional with articulated fingers. Another person - an impossible tall, burly reptilian, has a metal cranial implant. A short woman nearby claps happily, watching San with bright, mismatching eyes. The glassy iris betrays the fact that one of them is artificial.

 

Joong leans over to Yunho who’s standing next to them, “You notice anything about all these people?” He mutters.

 

Yunho studies the crowd for an instant before leaning over and answering, “They smell?”

 

Hongjoong almost snorts, but he stops himself,”No- I mean, maybe yeah, but their bodies are…”

 

“Metal. I know. I can smell it on them. They’re everywhere.”

 

“Augments?”

 

“Cyborgs,” Yunho nods affirmitively. “With how strong the scent of iron is coming off of them, I’d guess these people are more metal than man at this point.”

 

Hongjoong frowns. People didn’t augment much where he came from. They couldn’t afford to do it legitimately, and home-built or jailbroken augments were very illegal. Occasionally, he stumbled across a cybernetic hand here, a robotic leg there.

 

BH is, apparently, the opposite.

 

After noticing it, it’s hard to unsee - the jarring amount of cybernetic augments. Thing is, the ones on the BH people don’t exactly seem legit. Many look old, outdated. Others look modified - something also highly discouraged in most sectors, far as Joong knows. An older guy’s painted his with all sorts of swirling designs. Two young women appear to have “couples arms” - one with a right one with a left in complementary colors; their interlocked hands somehow make a perfect heart shape. An older gentleman’s leg appears to be made of three different legs, worn silvery metal welded with new looking, pristine white joints. It’s an odd mishmash of form and flesh.

 

“Whoa, it’s a fish!” “Don’t give me that sad look- take these two credits!” “Is he alright?” “Wow- What do you think he’s using to do that?” “I dunno, but I want one.” “He’s cute.” “Is he for sale?” “I’ll throw a credit in-” “Do you have change…?”

 

The crowd continues on, fighting for a spot in front, gasping and gawking at the siren. Hongjoong glances over to check on San again, and his frown deepens. San definitely looks pale. Joong doesn’t know the mechanics or biological implications of siren water voodoo (or whatever the hell San chooses to call it). All he knows is that San doesn’t look so hot. (And that’s saying something considering how naturally alluring he is.) Almost all the color’s drained from his lips, and his body shudders.

 

“Is he okay?” Hongjoong asks Wooyoung who (of course, for some reason) is closest.

 

Wooyoung bites his lower lip and steps over to his companion. San is so completely consumed by his efforts that he doesn’t acknowledge the human at first. It takes a few tries before the siren breaks his conversation. The dense cloud of fog he’d molded into the letter ‘A’ instantly dissipates. Disappointed murmurs rumble across the crowd of onlookers as the steam fades.

 

“San? You alright?” Wooyoung asks when he finally gets through, shaking the other’s shoulder.

 

“Hm?” San raises his eyebrows like he hadn’t heard or noticed anything. Maybe he hadn’t.

 

Hongjoong sighs and holds his hands up, waving the crowd away, “Alright, he’s tired. Uh- Thank you for your… Attention.”

 

“What?” “No-! Did I miss it?” “Is he gonna be okay?” “Come on!” “But I wanted to see an elephant-”

 

 _“Sccrrrreeeeeee-! Click-click-”_ A shrill ringing noise drowns out the crowd entirely. The faint fuzziness of the tone tips Joong off that it’s coming from a loudspeaker.

 

“Good afternoon. The hour is sixteen-hundred. It is time for the evening patrol. Good afternoon. The hour is sixteen-hundred. It is time for the…” The message repeats itself, the robotic drone echoing as it cascades across loudspeakers down the entire block of floating city.

 

“The… Evening patrol?” Jongho utters.

 

No sooner than those words had been said does a hushed chaos ensue across their crowd. In seconds, the people who’d been so enthusiastically crowding them vanish. A few other noises sound out - rusty metal sliding, doors rattling in their jambs after being slammed, metallic clicks and clunks. The people just… Vanish. They’re gone, bounding away with whispered worriments and lamentations. In his peripherals, Hongjoong catches a few rushing into doors or shadowy alleyways. The scene is ridiculous and so damn fast, it’s like watching roaches scatter when the lights are turned on.

 

In the wake of their disappearance, silence fills in the empty space like a thick fog. There’s nothing to be heard. No heavy breaths, no catcalls, no trudging footsteps - not even a _cough_.

 

Suddenly, BH went from busy to ghost town - and there’s not a single soul around to tell them why.

 

“What the hell just happened?” Jongho asks, his eyes wide and worried.

 

“I- I- I don’t know-” Hongjoong answers. What else is he supposed to say?

 

“They announced an afternoon patrol,” Mingi mentions, looking left and right down the block. “Perhaps forming crowds is frowned upon by local law enforcement.”

 

Frowned upon has got to be an understatement. Loitering is frowned upon - it’s something that’ll get someone a slap on the wrist and an annoyed look. That can’t be what this is. This is something street-clearing and fear-inducing. Tension grips Hongjoong’s heart and starts gently squeezing on it. He anticipates something - but what?

  
What?

 

A low voice drifts into his ear, “...uck- fu… fuck… fuck-” It’s accompanied by pattering footsteps, and it quickly gets louder. “Fuck, fuck- fuck, fuck, fuck-!”

 

The entire crew watches wide-eyed as a man sprints toward them from down the block. His face is contorted with fear, and he constantly peeks over his shoulder.

 

“Hey-!” Jongho calls out to him as he gets closer. The man ignores them. He just runs. “Hey- Hey you!” The first mate tries again. Just as the guy starts to pass them, Jongho reaches out, catching him by the back of his oversized denim jacket.

 

“Wh-Wh-Wh-What the hell, man!? Lemme go!” Panic oozes from the guy’s tone - he doesn’t look quite right. Drugs? Hongjoong wonders.

 

“The hell’s going on here?” Hongjoong steps closer to him to ask. He inspects the BH resident, searching for some type of verbal cue. He doesn’t bare any marks that could be gang tattoos nor does he appear hurt. Only thing worth noting is (unsurprisingly) a cybernetic ear. So, what’s he running from?

 

“A-are you insane?! You need to hide- we all need to hide,” The man shakes Jongho’s grip.

 

“Wh- From what?”

 

The man, in hysterics, whelps, scrambling away,“I gotta go- I gotta go!” He dashes back from the direction he came, and all of ATEEZ (save for San who’s squatting dazedly on the ground) watch.

 

Hongjoong squints, and for the first time, he sees it. The thing that the manic local is so terrified of.

 

Rounding the corner he’d come from is a robot. It’s a pretty typical GC inspector unit, hardly anything sophisticated. Their circumference can’t be more than five meters around. The floating white sphere moseys along off the ground at the level of signs jutting out of the buildings.. Three blue dots of light shine from the front of the shiny surface, and there’s little circles outlined in black on each side of the bot. Most notable, however, is a detail Hongjoong had always thought comical: the hat. Sitting atop the robot’s head-slash-body is a tiny hat. It sort of looks like one of those paper boats people make when they’re kids. Joong’s pretty sure it has a fancy name like a “slide cap” or something - not that he cares. He’d heard that the GC put hats on their bots and made the design “cuter” for PR purposes when they’d first started taking over the universe.

 

The captain’s almost certain their guy is on drugs to be afraid of one of those things. He despises the Coalition, but… They are kind of cute. Just. Floating spheres with little dots for eyes and tiny hats.

 

The inspector bot moves at almost a lazy pace, stopping a few meters past the corner and turning. A wide beam shoots out from its “eyes”, scanning down the stretch of sidewalk and building in front of it slowly.

 

The strange BH citizen had apparently gotten mixed up, and upon finding out he was running toward the inspector, he panics. Hongjoong narrows his eyes as the man turns tail again and sprints back toward them.

 

Except, he trips.

 

“Do you think he’s alright?” Yunho asks. “He seems pretty, uh, strung out.”

 

“That’s a police bot, isn’t it?” Mingi asks.

 

“Yup. Little hat and all,” The canis answers the Venusian.

 

“Wh- Then why is he running? The police are here to help people.”

 

Oh god.

 

Sweet, adorable, blessed, innocent, _naive_ Mingi. Even after hearing their stories he assumes it’s just a crooked minority that sent them to jail. Joong’s not religious, but every time Mingi speaks he just thinks: bless your soul.

 

Yunho’s jaw drops dumbly - even he’s taken aback by Mingi’s faith in law enforcement,“Uh-” His thoughts seem to trail off as they watch the scene down the block unfold.

 

The bulbous GC bot floats toward the BH man who’d not quite recovered from his fall. He winces as he tries to hoist himself up. That’s when a wide, blue beam runs down his body.

 

 _“SCREEEEEEEE! SCREEEEEEEE! SCREEEEEEEE! SCREEEEEE-!”_ Deafening alarms (all too similar to the ones in the KQ jail) screech. Even down the block, it’s arresting, making ATEEZ wince and cower from the sudden loudness.

 

“UNAUTHORIZED CYBERNETIC IMPLANT DETECTED!” A booming robotic voice thunders, the depths of its sound so deep it rumbles Hongjoong’s rib cage.

 

That’s when a feature unfamiliar to Hongjoong prior reveals itself. The little circles on its sides jut out, revealing spikes. Long, sharp metal spikes. From the core part of the bot, two articulated tentacles shoot out.

 

“No-! No!” The man wails. He tries to escape their clutches, but he’s no match.

 

Fear clenches Hongjoong’s heart in a vice as he remains frozen in utter terror.

 

The bot’s tentacle wraps around the man’s ankle and yanks him back. All the while, he begs. Its little side consoles that had popped out move, shifting in front of the now red little “eyes”. Hongjoong makes the connection:

 

It’s an iron maiden.

 

“No- No- Oh god-!” The man down the street screams in pain. A faint crunching sound echoes down the way - probably his ankle bones from the pressure of the tentacle.

 

The captain rushes over to Mingi and Jongho who’d been standing near one another. Without a second thought he clasps his hands over each of their faces to cover their eyes.

 

 _“SCREEE-! SCREEE-!”_ “UNAUTHORIZED CYBERNETIC IMPLANT DETECTED-” “Oh god- oh go-” _“Crunch- crunch-” “Shink.”_ “UNAUTHORIZED CYBERNETIC…” “Aaaah-ahhhh-!”

 

Hongjoong chokes when he sees the man’s form suspended between the two halves of the maiden. It’s disgusting and horrific and scarring - but he can’t turn his eyes away. He’s petrified, held in place with his eyes pried open. Part of him doesn’t think what he sees is real. How can it be? These bots can’t seriously be just picking people up off of the streets, can they? He knows the Coalition is scum, but this? This is cold-blooded, ruthless, unapologetic murder.

 

_“Shink!”_

 

Joong gasps, jumping back when the two halves of the bot’s maiden close around the man’s body. Their motion is swift and uncaring. Things go quiet for a moment. The sirens die down, and the bot ceases its incessant hollering about crimes. A light flashes from the little seam between the two joined halves of the maiden, and then they separate, slowly.

 

“Criminal Neutralized.”

 

Thin rivulets of smoke float up from the spikes, and Hongjoong’s chest aches. He can’t breathe. He can’t _breathe_. Hot tears rush to his eyes, but he doesn’t dare let them fall. He blinks them away stubbornly to get a better look at the bot’s maiden. Because what he sees from the smoldering little spikes isn’t a bloodied body. There’s no stringy intestines hanging down or limp limbs skewered on the massive metal pikes.

 

There’s not even a drop of blood.

 

There is nothing.

 

Nothing at all.

 

Not a single trace of the man that had once been there.

 

In seconds, he got vaporized. His entire life, done.

 

“...un,” Someone says. Hongjoong looks around confusedly. His vision warps at the edges slightly - a result of his nerves, no doubt.

 

“Hm?” The captain grunts.

 

“Run,” Yunho says. Hongjoong drops his hands from the others’ faces and nods.

 

“Is- Is San okay?” He asks Wooyoung who’d been with the siren a short distance away. Wooyoung turns to the siren who dazedly nods.

 

In seconds, they’re just like the man they’d thought was mad before, running for their lives. At first, they try the restaurant they’d just been in. Except, there’s a solid metal gate now just behind the curtain that’d been so inviting before. They bang on it, only to get a muffled “We’re closed” in return.

 

Hongjoong doesn’t know where the hell to go, so he just leads where he thinks best: away from that spherical metal monster. ATEEZ runs in the opposite direction toward the end of the block. They can’t go too fast - San’s still sort of dazed. Apparently, though, they go fast enough.

 

“SUSPICIOUS BEHAVIOR DETECTED.” A robotic voice rings out behind them.

 

“Wh- What?” Joong’s eyes blow wide open, and he checks over his shoulder. The sphere is looming closer - not near near, but definitely too close for comfort. Its little beady eyes are red again. That’s not a good sign.

 

“RUNNING - SUSPICIOUS BEHAVIOR DETECTED,” It says as if to elaborate.

 

“Sh-Should we slow down?” Yunho asks.

 

“I have a feeling that’s a bad idea,” Hongjoong says.

 

Their footsteps hasten, and soon the streets are filled with the sound of their boots pattering on the sidewalk and their pants. Hongjoong considers that he ought to improve his cardio. Also that he ought to stop getting into situations like this. The captain breaks off from the group slightly, urging them to go ahead as he tries a door.

 

No dice.

 

He tries another.

 

Still no dice.

 

The third door is locked, too, and someone behind the fourth tells him to go the fuck away. Hopelessness drags the captain’s heart further and further toward the ground. When he dares peer over his shoulder, the bot is closer. Way closer.

 

“Wait- Why are we running?” Mingi (whose wrist has Yunho’s hand wrapped around it) asks. “The police are supposed to help people.”

 

ATEEZ’s crew gives the Venusian a collective expression of disbelief.

 

“...Right?” The Venusian adds. Before a discourse the reality of brutal police practices is opened, the bot bellows again.

 

“SUSPICIOUS BEHAVIOR DETECTED. INITIATING SCAN-!”

 

“Uh-” “That can’t be good.” “ _Run_.”

 

ATEEZ tries to pick up the pace, but it’s too late. Blue light touches their feet, tracing their bodies from feet up to the tippy top of Yunho’s head.

 

Hongjoong’s breath catches in his throat.

 

Things go still for a second. Just a second.

 

“DANGEROUS CRIMINAL DETECTED-!” _“SCREEEEE-! SCREEEEEE-! SCREEEEEEEEE-!”_

 

“Run- Run, _run-_!” Hongjoong shouts - his voice scarcely audible above the caterwaul of sirens and barked intonations. “Run!”

 

ATEEZ doesn’t really need prompting. They make a break for it with a few panicked yelps and gasps.

 

“DANGEROUS CRIMINAL DETECTED. REQUESTING BACKUP!”

 

“You’ve got to be shitting me!” Wooyoung hisses. He runs in tandem with San, an arm secured firmly around the siren’s waist. San’s body moves with the guidance, but the motion doesn’t seem conscious. He’s just following along. Hongjoong wishes he had the time to be concerned, the luxury of worrying over him. Unfortunately, the only thing he has is one - no, two - patrol bots on his tail.

 

“STOP, CRIMINAL!” _“SCREEE-! SCREEE-!”_ “DANGEROUS CRIMINAL DETECTED!”

 

Hongjoong detects the second bot out of the corner of his eye. Those spherical fuckers move fast for giant globes.

 

“Down the alley to the right!” Hongjoong shouts to Yunho who’s at the front. Yunho nods, not looking back, and complies, feinting right at the very last second. The rest of the crew follows, scuttling around the corner sharply in hopes of losing the stupid orbs.

 

“DANGEROUS CRIMINAL DETECTED!” _“Craaaash-!”_

 

Hongjoong trips over something. Adrenalized terror surges through his veins as he turns to look at the culprit. It’s one of those tentacles. Up close, it looks even more terrifying. He can see all of the little vertebrae-like, articulated segments. Dark, ugly stains cover the robotic appendage in splotches, dipping into the cracks. Blood and god knows what else. The captain foolishly looks behind him.

 

One is still in its whole form. The other? Poised to attack, little iron maiden floating in front of it, at the ready.

 

“C’mon, let’s go-!” Someone- It turns out to be Jongho - yells. He yanks Hongjoong by the wrist, pulling him up with so much force his shoulder practically dislocates.

 

Seems like the alley didn’t pan out.

 

 _“SCREEE-! SCREEE-”_ “DANGEROUS CRIMINALS LOCATED!”

 

It’s actually _worse_ , Hongjoong realizes. There’s more stuff there to get in their way - dumpsters, fire escapes, abandoned barrel fires. ATEEZ do their best to weave between the myriad obstacles.

 

“DANGEROUS CRIMINALS LOCATED-” _“Thud- Thud-”_ “San?! San- Get up!” “I- I’m fine-”

 

Hongjoong halts again, stumbling from the sudden stop. Just ahead of him, Wooyoung and San had been fleeing the bot. The half-conscious siren stumbled, and is struggling to get up. Joong checks on their pursuers, and his mouth falls open.

 

“San- San- move- It’s it’s-” He curses his lack of togetherness in the moment. The patrol bot that had gone for him has its tentacle coiled, at the ready to strike, pointedly in position for San. Did its artificial intelligence pick him out as the most vulnerable target? San - unlike most of the others - isn’t wanted. Or maybe sirens are automatically flagged?

 

The reasoning doesn’t matter.

 

Abruptly, the tentacle shoots toward the siren, wrapping around his ankle in a vice grip. Everyone’s attention is turned as the siren yelps in agony from the crushing grip. The pained noise makes Hongjoong wince.

  
“San!” “Fuck-” “S-San?” “Go hide-” “San!” “No- He can’t-”

The bot starts reeling him in, and Wooyoung wraps his arms around the siren’s waist. The human digs his heels in stubbornly, his face scrunching with exertion. There’s a stunned silence for a couple of moments following.

 

“H-Help me,” Wooyoung growls through gritted teeth.

 

“R-Right-” “Yeah.” “Got it!”

 

Hongjoong doesn’t feel like he’s much help, but it’s better than nothing. He grabs Wooyoung by the waist and digs his heels in, too. Yunho does the same behind him, and Mingi behind him.

 

 _“SCREE- SCREE-”_ “DANGEROUS CRIMINAL SEIZED- DANGEROUS CRIMINAL SEIZED- ERROR- DANGEROUS CRIMINAL SEIZED - SURRENDER NOW.”

 

Shockingly, their one-sided, unfun tug-of-war works. Sort of. Hongjoong clenches his teeth, sinking low to the ground and digging the heels of his own boots in. Slowly but surely, the tentacle drags San by the ankle. Even the siren - bleary as he is - tries using his free foot to help. Unfortunately, it’s not quite enough.

 

“Jongho- A little help?” Hongjoong poses it like a question, but it’s more of a desperate demand.

 

“Hm- Sorry, I was just- Figuring out how to tackle this,” The youngest says, snapping out of whatever zone he’d been in.

 

Joong puffs out exasperatedly,“Figuring out-?”

 

“Just- Just keep pulling, please,” Jongho says. He crosses over to San’s ankle and crouches down. He flinches when his hands meet the grimy robotic tentacle, and he starts working to pry the thing off of San’s ankle.

 

Pathetic little noises leave the siren’s lips. Hongjoong can tell he’s trying to hold his cries back. Those things probably break bones on purpose- and he hadn’t been that well to begin with.

 

A sudden force tugs the crew forward with a jerky motion.

 

“Whoa-” “Shit-” “Fff-” “O-Ow.” They’re all pulled forward maybe a meter or so, their shoes sliding against the slick ground.

 

“Jongho, don’t suppose you can work a little faster?” The captain asks.

 

“I’m… Doing… The best… I can…” Jongho responds strainedly. His entire body tenses, his muscles visibly straining.

 

“Hurts,” San whimpers. His body shudders from exertion and pain, and he looks almost pale as a sheet. Wooyoung leans down, talking low in his ear.

 

“DANGEROUS CRIMINALS RESISTING ARREST. REINFORCEMENTS REQUESTED.”

 

“Fuck,” Joong breathes out. He’s almost at his wit’s end. The only reason his arms haven’t fallen off is because of the adrenaline at this point. “Jongho?”

 

“Almost there,” The youngest snarls.

 

“It hurts,” San cries again, this time louder. “It hurts!”

 

“I’m- I’ve almost got you,” Jongho tries reassurance. He’s almost got the thing uncoiled.

 

Much to their dismay, the GC bots aren’t as dumb as they look. As if cued by Jongho’s declaration of almost-success, the bot tightens its tentacle’s grip. Jongho pulls his hands away just milliseconds before the thing would’ve closed around his fingers. Unfortunately, San isn’t as lucky.  


“Aaaah-!” The siren screams. “ _Aaaahhhh_ -!”

 

Hongjoong’s entire body seizes for an instant. The sound of San’s scream is… Arresting. It’s more than just a sound. It goes in through the ear and reverberates throughout his entire body. The sensation is thoroughly and completely uncomfortable. It’s like an all-consuming sensation of “no”. Just _no_. It doesn’t quite register as pain necessarily - though his ears do sting. All he can qualify the feeling as is “no”, just a pure, utter rejection of the idea of it in his body.

 

“Ow-!” Yunho whimpers. A couple others mutter curses, too.

 

“Let me go- lemme go- lemme go-”

 

“San, it’s- it’s gonna be fine,” Jongho tries again, sweat beading on his forehead as he delicately uncoils the tentacle again. “It’ll let you go-”

 

“Not it- Me- Lemme go- lemme go-” San is delirious at this point, overcome with pain and whatever ailment had afflicted him earlier. “Jus’ lemme go-”

 

Wooyoung leans down again, whispers more of, well more something into his ear (Joong doesn’t want to know). Whatever he says manages to quell San if only a little bit. It’s enough to goad the siren into tight-lipped quiet. Some little noises trickle out of his shut lips, but nothing like before.

 

“U-Uh, captain,” Mingi asks from behind him. “I think the reinforcements are here?”

 

Hongjoong’s head whips over his shoulder, and his arms nearly drop from Woo’s waist.

 

Fuck.

  
Two more are behind them. The orbs float lazily - like they have all the time in the world to mosey on down to the murder party.

 

ATEEZ’s crew is surrounded.

 

_“Crrrrraaaccckkk.”_

 

“What the fuck was that?” Wooyoung asks. Hongjoong wants to know, too. It came from in front of them. When he looks forward, he sees a tear stream down San’s face. Following the line of the siren’s long, slender body, he practically gags when he sees the ankle.

 

Ankles are not supposed to bend like that.

 

 _“Pew- pew- pew!”_ Little laser bolts fly above their heads all of a sudden.

 

First tentacles and iron maidens. Now lasers? Hongjoong panics. His body locks up completely. He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t even reflect on his life’s mistakes or just how fucked they are. His brain can’t comprehend the level of utter awfulness that the situation has escalated to.

 

 _“Zhhhhoooom! Zhooom-!”_ Little shapes zoom by so quickly that Hongjoong barely sees them. At first they seem so small - compared to the patrol bots, at least - that he thinks they’re freaky birds or something.

 

 _“Pew- pew- pew!”_ He watches the birds shoot little lasers. _“Pew- pew- pew!”_

 

There’s two of them, and they zip over to the bot that’s got ahold of San. They’re small things, little bots with four tiny jets attached. The little bots nimbly flit around the attacking patrol bot, shooting tiny lasers.

 

Not at ATEEZ, but at the patrol bot.

 

“DANGEROUS CRIMINAL DETECTED!” The offending bot bellows - the same it had been since starting its pursuit. “PURSUE IMMEDIATELY!” That bit is different, though.

 

Without warning, the offending patrol bot unwraps its tentacle from the siren’s ankle and turns to the little drones. Its three cronies do the same, echoing its new message: “PURSUE IMMEDIATELY!”

 

Tentacles shoot every which way, but the aerial robots are way too fast for them. The patrol bots look downright clumsy compared to the agile drones. To add insult to injury, they persistantly shoot tiny lasers as if to taunt the inspectors.

 

“Wh… It- What’s going on?” Jongho asks, confusedly watching the scene unfold in the alley above them. It’s almost comical. It would be, in different circumstances. Drones are perhaps one of the most rudimentary classes of robot. They’re almost childish. Yet all it takes is two of them to outsmart four highly sophisticated, expensive GC death machines.

 

“Pssst-!” An unfamiliar voice comes from behind them.

 

Hongjoong blinks confusedly. Had he really heard something? The entire place is deserted. Everyone’s holed up in their homes, right?

 

“Pssst- Over here!” The voice speaks again, this time a bit more loudly. It’s coming from behind them.

 

Hongjoong lets go of Wooyoung’s waist (he’d been so shocked he kept holding on) and turns around. He scans the alley for signs of anyone else.

 

“Here- Over here!” The person says again, this time more insistently. They sound young, like a man. “H-Here, to the left-”

 

Joong glances to the right.

 

“ _Your_ left-”

 

Hongjoong glances to his left. Slightly obscured by a barrel, a door that had been shut prior is just ever so slightly open. Just barely half of the young man’s face peeks out from the opening.

 

He beckons again, “In here!”

 

The captain doesn’t need any more prompting than that.

 

“Come on-” He commands the others to follow him. Jongho quickly scoops up San, and the rest of them follow rushedly. They haul ass to the shelter, not daring to look back at the commotion behind.

 

 _“Boom!”_ The heavy door shuts loudly not a second after the last of them file in. Their benevolent savior doesn’t even speak until he’s done locking the door. When the veritable smorgasbord of digital and physical locks are put in place, the young man who’d let them in crosses over to a projected screen across the room. The crew huddle together close to the door, unsure of what else to do. They’d been generously given shelter, but they don’t know what kind of place they’d stepped into.

 

The buzz of near-death hums all too freshly beneath Hongjoong’s skin. He slides against a nearby wall until his ass hits the ground. There he stays, collecting his nerves, his thoughts, his emotions. Everything’s all jittery, dancing in his chest and stomach. Just through the door, Hongjoong can make out the muffled sound of explosions and shooting.

 

He checks on the reset of his crew. The don’t seem to be in too good of shape, but they’re alive.

  
  


Mingi’s fingers are interlaced with Yunho’s, and his knuckles are white from his grip. The Venusian just keeps his gaze on the floor. He’s experienced a lot today.

 

Then there’s San, who has, unfortunately, experienced more. Hongjoong gazes over to the siren who sits between the strong, young Jongho and his confidant, Wooyoung. They both look at him concernedly. San’s eyes are shut. His head rests on Wooyoung’s shoulder. It’s an unfortunate, concerning sight. Hongjoong hopes to give that the attention it deserves soon. When he’s not coming down from being an anxious mess.

 

They’re alive and _in one piece_.

  
For that, he’s thankful.

 

Eventually, the noises stop. The angry police yelling and shrill lasers flying - it all subsides. Only the soft, low whirr of computers running fills the room. Across the space, the of a giant projected monitor outlines their benevolent saviour in blue light. It’s sort of poetic, Hongjoong thinks, like seeing the halo of their guardian angel. The rest of his body looks dark given the only light in the entire place is emmitted by projected screens and HUDs.

 

That gets Hongjoong to wondering: where are they?

 

The captain squints, trying to discern shapes in the dim room. The floor is mostly clear. It seems like worn concrete, nothing special or noteworthy. A ton of cables and wires, ranging from normal to thicker than Joong’s wrist, run across the floor. While they mostly cling to surfaces - tall metal racks and walls - some stretch across the floor randomly. That’s gotta be a tripping hazard.

 

Metal racks line the walls, and on top of them there’s just… Stuff. Hongjoong can barely make it out, but a lot of it looks like, well junk. He means that in the literal sense. As a junker, he can spot specifically curated throwaways - that is, _junk_ \- from actual garbage. There’s wires and cogs and little motherboards, drained batteries and a couple of really big jet propulsors. Some things are stacked together while smaller stuff resides in boxes and baskets.

 

In the middle of the room there’s a few working tables and mobile workbenches accompanied by rolling racks. There are half-finished projects on top of them, and simplistic robotic arms assemble parts here and there. A few screens float around them, but they’re idle right now.

 

Where their savior stands is where most of the activity seems to be. Aside from the massive monitor in front of him, a dozen little screens of every size branch out from the goliath projection.

 

They’re in some kind of junker-mechanic’s workshop.

 

“I got them off your tail. You shouldn’t be out during patrols, what the hell were you doing?” Their savior asks, finally turning around. The words are chiding - harsh, even, but his tone sounds soft, concerned. Given the lighting situation, Hongjoong can just barely see the outer edges of his silhouette.

 

“Uh-” “Um…” “He’s, um, he-”

 

Hongjoong takes the hint. Heaving a sigh, the captain rises to his feet.

 

“Thank you for bailing our asses out,” He starts with. After all, he did bail their asses out. “Those drones are yours?” Their savior frowns - Joong makes it out, hardly.

 

“They _were_ my drones,” He says, frowning. It almost looks like a pout, but maybe that’s a trick of the light. “Now they’re toast.”

 

“I-I’m sorry about that. About your drones. Seriously, though, we- we owe you our lives. Thank you,” Hongjoong bites his lip nervously. Pissing this guy off could mean having to go back out there. They can’t afford to do that.

 

The young man sighs, “It can’t be helped, I guess. Not like I can’t make a couple of others… But- Seriously, what were you guys doing out during the patrols?”

 

“Nothing!” Mingi pipes up. He stands, too running a hand through his hair. “W- We weren’t doing anything, and- and we were attacked.” He sounds galled and devastated and still scared, poor thing.

 

“Oh,” The mysterious young man breathes out. “Oh.”

 

“Oh what?” Joong asks.

 

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

 

“Yeah.” “No shit.” “Duh.” “Yeah- No, we’re not.” They return with a mumbled choir of answers.

 

“Oh, my…”

 

The captain bites his lip nervously, “Can- Can you tell us what’s going on? Please?”

 

Their savior stands there silently for a minute or two. He seems to be sizing them up, assessing them, perhaps assessing the threat. The people in BH have been fairly generous, that’s true, but all generosity has its limit. Especially when it comes to troublesome outsiders. Hongjoong prays he’s not about to get kicked out or chewed out.

 

“PC, lights,” The man says with a sense of finality.

 

“Turning on lights,” A robotic voice returns. Lights turn on with a soft whirring noise, and all the little, obscure shapes Joong had seen turn into things. That’s not what the captain’s really focused on, though. His gaze shoots to the man who’s responsible for them being alive right now, and on that man they stay.

 

They’re kinda stuck for an embarrassingly long spell of time. It’s even more embarrassing considering the fact that there are no words coming out of his mouth. He openly stares at this man who’d graciously extended a helping hand when they so desperately needed it.

 

Because he’s beautiful.

 

He is absolutely _stunning_.

 

Their guardian angel is, perhaps literally, an _angel_. Words fail the captain - a man for whom poetry is a favorite (secret) hobby. Their savior is flawless. _Divine_. His eyes are a beautiful gray-green, like raw emeralds. His lips are pretty and rosy and just the right amount of plush without being overwhelming. Half of his bangs cover half of his forehead, the other ones parted and swept away, grazing his ears (probably the only flaw he has, they’re big proportionally). His clothes aren’t as baggy or covering as other BH citizens. He’s got a turtleneck and jeans, a denim jacket and a few bits of jewelry.

 

“Uh-” The captain mutters dumbly.

 

“You can call me Yeosang."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // sexy cyborg for table 8!


	3. Chapter 3

Kang Yeosang.

 

Savior. Possible angel. Close to their age. BH born and bred. These are the things ATEEZ’s crew learned after he introduced himself. The young man sighs, softly berating them for being so imprudent. Hongjoong quickly gets that impression of the man - soft. Even though his words are blunt and to the point, his tone inherently cushions the blow. In spite of his striking appearance, there’s a cuteness to him almost. He makes small movements, and his mannerisms show his shyness.  

 

“Don’t you guys ever get out? You should always follow the locals,” Yeosang criticizes them for what feels like the tenth time. He leans against one of his work tables casually, arms crossed in front of him. 

 

“Sorry, I didn’t suspect that police robots programmed to kill on sight trolled the area during patrols,” Jongho answers him dryly.

 

Yeosang sighs; he glances toward San, who’s nodded off against one of the walls, “He doesn’t look too good…” He mutters.

 

“Y-yeah, um- How long are these patrols?” Hongjoong asks. “We need to get him to first aid when we can.” He frowns. Even though the bots had completely taken them by surprise, he feels responsible for the siren’s condition. Guilt twists the noxious dagger of nerves in his stomach. 

 

Captain’s curse, he supposes.

 

“Bring him here,” Yeosang replies. He clears off the work surface he’d been leaning against, handing a half-built bot of sorts to a little drone. The tiny drone carries it off, and he pats the cleared table. “It’s not exactly comfortable, but I can get a decent look at him.”

 

So he’s a junker, tinkerer, mechanic  _ and _ a doctor? Joong exchanges impressed expressions with the rest of his crew. Jongho and Wooyoung carefully carry the unconscious siren over, sliding him onto the table as nicely as possible. 

 

Yeosang leans over San, inspecting him up and down. Then, suddenly, his eyes light up.  _ Literally _ . A blue-green beam of light runs down the siren’s body slowly. Joong gasps and freezes for a second. Reflexive panic closes around him at the sight of another scanning beam - it’s all too similar to the ones the inspector bots had used to damn them earlier. 

 

So it turns out Yeosang not exactly human.

 

Yeosang, reading the tense aura in the room, meets the captain’s shifty eyes, “There’s no need to be alarmed. They’re augments.” He blinks a couple of times, and the artificial light of his eyes dims, giving way to their natural-looking default. 

 

“Uh- Right. Right, of course,” Hongjoong lets out the breath he wasn’t aware he’d kept bottled up. 

 

“I’m a cyborg- you couldn’t tell?” Their savior seems humored, a little smile teasing at the edges of his lips. Hongjoong shakes his head in response - he genuinely couldn’t. Yeosang glows at that, and he pridefully adds, “Self-modified, too.”

 

“Whoa,” Yunho gasps.

 

“Wait- You- you-” Mingi sputters, leaving his spot on the wall to shuffle over to Yeosang. “You made this- Your eyes- yourself? Your eyes?” He circles the other, inspecting him like he’s an animal in captivity. Luckily, the augmented man doesn’t take offense.

 

“More than just eyes,” Yeosang replies. He lifts a gloved hand - Joong hadn’t paid his hands mind earlier, hadn’t thought much of them being covered by fingerless gloves. Though Yeosang’s fingers appear flesh-like from a distance, upon removing the glove he reveals a fully articulated cybernetic hand - metal joints and all. It’s a pale, flesh-like color, something that wouldn’t catch attention at a passing glance. Skinny wires and metalwork just barely peeks out from the gaps between the joints’ junctions.

 

“Holy shit- you made that yourself?” The Venusian gasps, studying Yeosang’s extended hand. 

 

“This hand-” Yeosang waves his left hand, “-both of my legs and, of course, my eyes.”

 

Two cybernetic legs, one augmented arm, and mechanical eyes… He’s just about as much machine as he is human - a genuine cyborg. Hongjoong looks at the other with shock.

 

“That’s so cool,” Mingi says with awe. Joong and Yunho join the others around the table, openly gawking at Yeosang’s invitation. The cyborg generously shucks his jacket and pulls up a sleeve, revealing the clean exterior of his cybernetic arm. He even lifts a pantleg, too, to show off his shining, metal shins (“Hand forged and shaped!” he beams).

 

“You said you did this all yourself?” Jongho asks. The question’s redundant, it’s not like Yeosang hadn’t been humblebragging the entire time (he’s got every right to, of course).

 

“Mhm,” Yeosang nods.

 

The youngest purses his lips, gaze down in thought, “We saw a man get… Apprehended earlier. Got bagged for ‘unauthorized cybernetic implants’ - that’s what the bot said after scanning him.”

 

Yeosang’s sunny mood falters. A knowing, bitter expression falls over his face, and he lets out another sigh.

 

“Yeah- Yeah he was,” Hongjoong says. He thinks about all the people he’d seen, all the people they’d passed on the streets, those in the restaurant and the crowd that had surrounded them outside. Almost all of them had some kind of noticeable augment. From eyeballs to entire limbs. “Yeosang,” The captain looks the cyborg in the eye, “What’s going on here? With- with the bots and all these mechanical parts and- the patrols?”

 

The cyborg frowns, “You guys really don’t know?”

 

“No, we don’t. We got here hours ago.”

 

Heaving yet another sigh, Yeosang explains, “Well, BH has always been divided into basically two levels, the Above, and here, the Under. This place was built around massive lentumite asteroids, but the stuff’s toxic. The owners of the production - the mines, the transportation, that stuff - they moved up - to the Above. Miners lived in the Sub-Sectors - here, the Under. The Below. Sometimes affectionately called the Guts, even.

 

“Everyone here gets the sickness sooner or later. Fumes and radiation drift up from the asteroid cores, and prolonged exposure gets all of us. Moving up isn’t an option- hell, moving across the street is hardly an option anymore. Those fuckers from Above have been making prices skyrocket.” The cyborg’s voice drips venom at the  mention of “those fuckers from Above”. He continues:

 

“Basically, we’re all sick, and the sickness, well… It takes. It takes and takes and takes. It takes everything. Arms, legs, eyes, tongues. Not a lot of doctors service us down here, and they’re far from cheap. We don’t really have the money to afford them. What we do have is scrap, though. Lots of it. Those morons up Above will throw away anything even if it’s half-decent.”

 

That explains all the scrap sitting on his shelves, Hongjoong realizes. He collects it and uses it to build everything they see- his workbenches, his drones, even his computer desk. Giving the workshop a closer look, Hongjoong can see the little seams where bits and pieces had been joined to create one.

 

Yeosang looks down at his cybernetic hand, clasping and unclasping it, watching the little metal segments of his joints bend and curl with his engineered articulations, “Scrap and home-engineered augments are way cheaper than medicine, so, here we are,” He shrugs. “Lotta junkers around these parts make a living turning scrap into augments for the people around here. Of course jeopardizing our health and upping our rent doesn’t seem enough for them, anymore. The rich fuckers from Above want our real-estate now. They initiated these patrol things as an excuse to cull those of us trying to get by down here. People get taken for the smallest of misdemeanors- have been for awhile.”

 

Scrap is cheaper than medicine.

 

Something about that statement stabs Hongjoong in the gut a little. The sensation toils in him, uncomfortable and sad. Yeosang isn’t a cyborg by choice. He’s a cyborg out of necessity. If he’d been born elsewhere, he’d probably be just a normal, red-blooded, one-hundred percent human young man.

 

But he’s not.

 

Half of him is metal and circuitry.

 

Hongjoong can’t even fathom that. Obviously Yeosang didn’t lose everything at once. He was born human. Yet, over time, he lost parts of himself. He witnessed himself withering away to the point that the better option was replacing a limb with something artificial. He literally had to cut his losses. That’s a serious call to make. 

 

But it’s also the way of life in the BH Sub-Sectors.

 

Mingi mutters,“That’s… I can’t…” He trails off, at a loss for words. Talk about culture shock.

 

Yeosang seems able to sense the pitying looks on their faces, and he changes the subject hastily, “What about this one, though? What’s his story. He’s… Different. Weird.” He looks pointedly at San who’d been unconscious on the table the entire time.

 

“Oh- San?” Wooyoung answers. “He’s a siren.”

 

“A what?”

 

“A siren- You know, a- Actually, you probably don’t know.”

 

“The word rings a bell. Sounds like something out of a fairytale.”

 

“They’re amphibious humanoids- prefer water, nowadays,” Wooyoung tucks a finger under the high collar of San’s turtleneck and slides it down a bit, revealing his gills. “See?”

 

“Wh- Holy  _ shit _ ,” It’s Yeosang’s turn to be shocked, and the scanner beam projected from his eyes skims down San’s neck. “Wow. I noticed his core temperature seemed off. I’ve never seen anybody like this in my life. You said he was called a siren?”

 

“Yeah,” Wooyoung replies. “Most people haven’t seen one because- well, they don’t normally live to tell the tale.”

 

“And you guys did?” Yeosang stands up straight again and looks at ATEEZ’s crew - really looks at them. He narrows his eyes, studying them for a few moments with a newfound fascination. He looks like he’s just realizing how motley a crew they are. There’s three humans (one of whom has super strength). They have a siren in their midst and a Venusian who turns heads from his appearance alone. Then there’s the humecanis - a race that’s scarcely seen outside of one or two planets. Even more scarcely do they walk free.

 

“What’s your story?” The cyborg asks. 

 

Oh boy.

 

That’s a loaded question.

 

“Where do we start…?” Hongjoong asks with a chuckle.

 

Yeosang wraps a makeshift splint around San’s ankle as Joong tells their tale from the top. The conscious members of ATEEZ’s crew add and embellish where they’re involved. Yunho makes big gestures pantomiming the fateful junkslide, and Wooyoung sheepishly stutters through the story of his first encounter with San. Mingi talks about how he really, really didn’t want to get married and how he doesn’t regret his impulsive jump. Of course, Yeosang’s told about their extra guest: Petty Officer Prettyboy, aka Park Seonghwa. Bringing the guy up makes nausea bubble in Hongjoong’s stomach.

 

“He’s the- the most prejudiced, judgmental, prim, proper, pompous-” Hongjoong’s fists squeeze tightly as he gives the flattering description. “-full of himself, self-righteous-  _ ugh _ .” The captain grimaces at the mental image of Seonghwa’s irritatingly cool, scornful,  _ bitchy _ expression. How can someone who looks so divine be so diabolical?

 

“Sounds like a pleasure,” Yeosang chuckles. He pats San’s ankle gently, nodding. “This is the best I can do. It’s not pretty, but it should heal fine. It’s just broken bone. The snap was forceful, so it was pretty clean, at least.”

 

“Thank you,” Hongjoong responds. The others echo his gratitude to the cyborg.

 

_ “Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep-” _ A soft chirping sounds out from Yeosang’s main PC. The cyborg glances over his shoulder and raises his eyebrows.

 

“Oh- that’s the alarm. Patrol’s over for now,” He says. “It’s safe to go out now- not that I’m kicking you out or anything.”

 

“Wait-” Hongjoong fishes some paper credits out of his pocket. “You’ve- you’ve helped us out so much I-”

 

“Don’t,” Yeosang holds up a hand. “I don’t need your money.”

  
“But-”

 

“No buts.”

 

“B-”

 

“No buts,” The cyborg cuts Hongjoong off genially.

  
Defeated, the captain’s shoulders sag, “If- If you’re sure.” He feels guilty, but part of him is relieved. With the inflation rates and all the stuff they need, they can use every credit they get.

 

“Mnn…” A scratchy groan comes from the siren on the table. All attention turns to him as he stirs. San hisses through his teeth as he rouses, starting to sit up, and Wooyoung’s the first to rush to his side.

 

“Hey,” Wooyoung speaks in a tone more tender than Hongjoong had ever heard him speak in before. He leans in and reaches out to squeeze the siren’s hand. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

 

“Mnn,” San groans in response. His face contorts from the pain as he comes to his senses. His eyes blink open slowly, and he observes their surroundings without a word. “Where are we?”

 

“We’re in a workshop- um, a really kind person gave us shelter.”

 

“I remember,” San replies dazedly. “I remember. Robots and. Running. And pain. Then quiet. Is- is everyone okay?”

 

“Mhm. Everyone’s fine- except for you,” Wooyoung frowns.

 

“I hurt, but I’m okay,” San reassures the other. He turns to Yeosang - the one unfamiliar face in the huddle formed around him - and gives a weak smile. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Yeosang replies with a meek smile. The two exchange quiet introductions, and San’s brought to speed (“A cyborg!? I’ve never heard of that,” The siren says, shocked). They decide bed rest is the best for San, and start gathering the motivation to make the trek back to their ship.

 

“What’s with the long face?” Yeosang asks Hongjoong as a couple of the others help San onto a hovering seat of sorts.

 

“Hm-?” Joong didn’t think he was making any type of long face. He quirks an eyebrow, “Oh- uh- just thinking is all.”

 

“About what? Sad you have to leave so soon?” Yeosang asks jokingly.

 

Hongjoong shakes his head and chuckles, “Not quite. I just- my Compass guided me here for a reason, I think. I just- I wish I could know why. How. It’s been unstable lately. It needs something, I know it does. I just don’t know what.” He frowns. This is the third set of coordinates the device has spit out, and he’s starting to wonder if his efforts - his dream - is really a wash.

 

“Compass- the device you found buried in the junk, right? The one that’ll lead to the Treasure?” Yeosang asks for clarification.

 

Joong nods affirmatively, “Yeah. The thing’s ancient- well, probably a couple of centuries old, at least. It led us to BH, and I was hoping that- I dunno I’d find a- a part or something.” 

 

“Why don’t I have a look at it?” The cyborg queries.

 

“Wh- No. You’ve done enough, Yeosang.”

 

“Why not? I’m good with machines.”

 

“I told you: you’ve already done enough. I can’t ask more of you after you saved our lives, let us into your workshop, and wrapped up San’s ankle.”

 

“Okay,” Yeosang replies. “So pay me by letting me take a look at that Compass.”

 

“What?”

 

“I love weird things. It’ll be fun.”

 

“Fun, really?”

 

“Yes! I insist,” Yeosang clasps his hands in front of himself like he’s begging for something. Joong considers for a moment that it’s just a ploy to steal their ship, but he perishes the thought. The guy saved their lives, he’s probably not gonna try and screw them over at this point.

 

“W-Well, um, if you really want to look at it, I don’t see why not,” Hongjoong concedes. It would be nice to get a fresh, capable set of eyes on the thing. Maybe Yeosang can lend him some insight.

 

“Great! Lemme just pack some tools!” Yeosang beams, bouncing over to one of his work benches to load up a sack with stuff.

 

He seems… Happy. Hongjoong wonders how often the cyborg talks to people. Does he get company much? What about friends? He didn’t mention any the entire time they’d been getting to know each other. No family, either, apparently. Hongjoong considers that, maybe, Yeosang had friends. Had family. 

 

But, there’s sickness and malicious Coalition bots culling people on the daily. Odds are, many of the people Yeosang held dear in his life are gone. In spite of the makings of his body, he’s not all too different from Hongjoong or Yunho.

 

Maybe that’s why he’s so enthusiastic, humming happily as he gathers tools to check out the Compass.

  
  


* * *

 

“Holy shit,” Yeosang gasps when they approach ATEEZ in the lot. He practically drops the sack slung over his shoulder. “Is that a fucking Rattlesnake?”

 

“Rattlesnake. Diamondback- whatever the fuck it’s called,” Hongjoong replies. He always mixes them up. As far as he concerned, it’s ATEEZ. “Some combat freighter we lifted off the GC.”

 

“C-Can I look around?” The cyborg’s eyes are mechanical, but they still twinkle the same as organic ones do with excitement.

 

“Sure,” Hongjoong gestures to the descending loading dock. “I can give you the grand tour.

 

“Sick.”

 

Hongjoong follows the others as they file in, stretching languidly and yawning. Wooyoung’s got an arm around San’s waist and makes an offhanded comment about helping him. Good. About damn time, Hongjoong thinks.

 

“So, this is the cargo bay,” The captain gestures widely to the receiving area of their ship. It’s nothing much, really. There’s stairs in the middle and a grated catwalk. Behind the stairs is the infirmary, there’s laundry down a corridor to the left and-

 

“What’s over here?” Yeosang asks, lifting a hand to open the door to the right corridor.

 

“Th-That’s the brig-!” Hongjoong scuttles over to the cyborg’s side quickly. “We, uh, if you recall, we have a guest. Trust me, you don’t wanna meet him.”

 

“Oh- Right, okay!” Yeosang’s gaze lingers on the passage to the brig momentarily before he moves on. “Show me the way.”

 

* * *

 

Wooyoung can feel San’s long yawn wrack over the siren’s entire body. The other’s muscles stretch taut beneath his turtleneck, his back arching slightly. Anxiety still hums persistently under Wooyoung’s skin even hours after their near-fatal experience. He feels hypersensitive, hyperaware - especially of San. Every time his mind drifts back to that horrific moment, his heart lurches.

 

He wishes he could’ve reacted sooner, maybe pushed the siren out of the way, taken the pain himself. After all San’s been through, he can’t even react fast enough to take a hit for him. 

 

Guilt twists in Wooyoung’s stomach.

 

“What do you do for pain where you come from?” Wooyoung asks as he slowly helps San across the living area.

 

“To inflict it?” The siren - in spite of everything - quips. “We like tridents and lances, halberds, too.”

 

Wooyoung lets out a wry laugh. He’d be more humored if San didn’t look half-asleep and paler than paper.

 

“To cope with it- and don’t say alcohol.”

 

“You’re no fun,” The siren replies hoarsely.

 

“Come on. I just don’t know if you can take the same pain meds we do. They should have something down in the infirmary, though.”

 

“I just need to rest.”

 

Wooyoung halts, brows furrowing indignantly, “Like hell you ‘just need to rest’- your- your ankle got-“ Intense nausea washes over Woo as the memory replays in his head. That  _ crack _ . That sharp crack, and the way his ankle just gave, cocking to the side at a sickly angle, like a snapped twig.

 

“You look like you’re about to be sick,” San says pointedly. 

 

Wooyoung frowns. His impishness is a far departure from the wailing mess he’d been during the event. That’s probably the worst of all, to Wooyoung. The ankle breaking, that was irksome, but seeing San in such pain, hearing is wails, the tears rolling down his cheeks. Illness ignites into anger anew. The absolute nerve of the Coalition to commit such atrocities, and to hurt the innocent siren, scorns Woo. 

 

Unfortunately, he realizes, said siren would be in no such situation if it weren’t for his association with ATEEZ. The captain’s words echo in his head, and his heart aches. 

 

_ “Keep an eye out for him.” _

 

That’s what Hongjoong told him. That’s what Wooyoung said he would do. He gave his word. Letting San get caught and have his ankle crushed is pretty much the opposite of that. 

 

Even so, San is gracious enough to smile at him and strong enough to joke through the pain. At this point, he should be beyond livid. He has every reason to be. The same question that’s plagued Wooyoung since the day he met the siren presents itself now:

 

Why is Choi San so kind?

 

How is it that of all sirens in the universe, Wooyoung managed to meet perhaps the most gracious, forgiving one of them all?

 

There’s some cosmic irony, Wooyoung swears, because he’s just about the opposite. He acts friendly but doesn’t like to make friends. San welcomes people with open arms while Wooyoung is only really inclined to open his legs and leave the next morning. 

 

San is fearless. He meets new people - hell, entire new galaxies - with wide eyes and open arms. Wooyoung keeps everyone at an arm’s length.

 

It’s an ugly truth, a jarring flaw he’s all too aware of.

 

“Wooyoung?” San’s voice pierces the hume’s thoughts. 

 

“Hm-?” Wooyoung blinks dazedly. Glancing just beside them, he sees the door to San’s room. He must’ve stopped without even thinking about it.

 

“You… Got quiet,” The siren frowns. 

 

Wooyoung replies,“Sorry. Zoned out. Is your room locked with a code, or can I just-“

 

“Actually, can I go to the bath?” San asks in a small voice. 

 

Wooyoung’s eyes inadvertently catch the other’s. God, they’re pretty. Dark like the chasms of the ocean’s depths - yet still somehow luminescent. Woo is no medical expert, and he isn’t sure how wise taking a bath is with a freshly broken ankle. But… What’s he gonna do? Say no?

 

“Sure,” Wooyoung responds. He tries to clear all the crap muddling his head as the two enter the restroom at the end of the corridor. Unlike the hall which is dark, the tile of the bathroom is pristine white.

 

Woo escorts San past the sinks and toilet stalls toward the communal shower in the back. The wide tiled space boasts six heads - three on each side - and in the back sits a single soaking tub. It’s surprisingly big. Not exactly luxurious or high-end, but long enough that even Yunho can sit comfortably. Wooyoung wonders about the ship sometimes. Why is there such a nice tub? Why are all the rooms singles and not cramped bunks - isn’t this a military thing?

 

However, his mental digression screeches to a halt when the siren attempts to step forward of his own volition.

 

“Wh- Jeez- careful,” Wooyoung chides the other, scampering to keep in step with the other.

 

San pouts, “I think I’ll be fine, really. It just feels sore now.”

 

“That is  _ not _ how broken ankles work,” Wooyoung informs him. He imagines that sirens aren’t used to broken bones, what with physics being all different under water. “Come on…”

 

Wooyoung guides San over to the tub, lowering him onto the side with care. The siren perches on the lip and flashes a weak but grateful smile. Woo’s heart wrenches, but he stuffs down the sensation with all his might.

 

San has no reservations about stripping. He’d been naked when he met Wooyoung, after all. Wooyoung doesn’t get warning when the other  starts peeling off his dirtied turtleneck and undershirt. The heat burning Woo’s cheeks feels like a slap to the face. Wooyoung isn’t sure if he should be disappointed, guilty, or angry at himself for even remotely thinking like  _ that _ given the circumstances. San is hurt, and his long, slender fingers fiddling with his belt aren’t doing so for the sake of a fun strip tease.

 

The human tears his gaze away from the other. Woo decides: the ceiling looks interesting. Yes, it sure does. What with the venting system and recessed lights. The acoustics are worth note, too. Everything sounds so tinny, and noises echo loudly - such as fabric hitting the floor.

 

“Here, I’ll start it for you,” Wooyoung offers without really waiting for any sort of answer. He hunches over the tub’s faucet and turns one of the knobs, checking the temperature. When the stream feels just short of lukewarm, he lets it run. San doesn’t like hot baths- well, he doesn’t dislike them, far as Woo knows, but the siren prefers lounging in something closer to “room temperature” (whatever that meant underwater). 

 

“You don’t have to,” San protests (Wooyoung keeps his gaze glued on the metal fixtures of the tub all the while).

 

“You’re hurt, and you were sick- are sick? Are you even ok-”

 

“I'm  _ fine _ . I was just tired from all that water stuff. It’s kinda taxing after awhile, focusing mentally like that. Relax.”

 

“Well, I don’t mind helping you at all.”

 

“I…” San pauses for a few moments, and his tone turns down when he speaks again, “I apologize if I’m at all a burden.”

 

“What?” Wooyoung mistakenly looks up at the other. He nearly chokes on his own words, “I- Uh- I mean- No, you’re not. You’re not a burden. We’re really glad to have you here and- well, mostly in one piece.” He grins weakly, straining to keep his eyes above the neck.

 

San’s gaze is searching - for what, Wooyoung doesn’t know. It makes him nervous, and he squirms a little beneath the heft of the other’s discernment. Whatever thoughts passed the siren’s mind never came to air.

 

“If you say so,” Is all he replies.

 

Wooyoung doesn’t push it. He’s not good with that sort of stuff - deep “real” talk. He never knows the right thing to say, and almost always manages to say the wrong thing instead. He feels bad. Maybe someone like Hongjoong or even Yunho would be more suited to giving the siren reassurance. Woo’s come to learn that his mouth is like a little time bomb: a sure inevitability of a fuckup waiting to happen. He has a nasty tendency of running it on impulse. It’s truly a wonder he didn’t get himself killed the first time they met.

 

A spell of quiet falls over the two as they watch the tub fill up. It’s not what Wooyoung would describe as agonizing or painful, but it’s far from comfortable. Something sits on his shoulders heavily. San is looking at him- or maybe his eyes just happen to be on the human while he, himself, zones out. Woo wants to say something -  _ wishes _ he could say something. But what?

 

“Sorry I let you get snatched up by a wacko circle” ? No. “Are you okay” ? Stupid, obvious question with an obvious answer. “Your pain tolerance is really high, that’s cool” - even stupider. “Do you hate me” ? Awkward. “I’m sorry” - too vague.

 

Nerves swirl around in Wooyoung’s head much like he swirls his hand in the cool water pooling in the tub. He idly watches the way his hand distorts beneath the surface, how his fingers warp and whirl underneath the faucet’s flow.

 

“Lemme help you,” Wooyoung mutters when the tub seems full enough to submerge the siren. 

 

“Hm-? Oh- That’s alright, I can-“

 

“I don’t want you to fall and hit your head or something,” Wooyoung insists. It’s the least he can do. He fixes his eyes on San’s collarbone to assure his eyes do no more wandering. It works well. The spot is pretty and well defined and more distracting than it has any right to be. Wooyoung leans close to give the siren support while the other swings his legs over the tub’s side. Slowly and carefully, San is lowered into the tub. The siren lets out a relieved, contented sigh - like the mere contact soothes him. Maybe it does.

 

Quiet falls over the bathroom upon the siren’s submersion. Faint dripping and water lapping up the sides of porcelain join the gentle buzz of the lights. San looks serene as can be when he dips beneath the surface of the water, bubbles rising from his nostrils. The sight even calms Wooyoung down. It’s reassuring to see San so comfortable. Unlike a normal human, the siren’s body doesn’t bob at the surface. It drifts to the bottom of the tub and stays there. His ankle looks swollen, angry, and bruised, but the water ought to help take strain off of it. Yeosang had done an admirable job for a cyborg that literally lived in some back alley.

 

The human kept an eye on the siren for a little bit. The ankle draws most of his attention. Weirdly enough, being under water even sans splint, the limb seems to right itself somewhat. Maybe it’s a trick of the light or the warping of the image from water. 

 

There’s a few more nasty looking bruises on his legs. The human’s gaze unconsciously draws up, from ankle to calves, along the sinews of slender, muscled thighs.

 

Cheeks burning, Wooyoung stands up with abruptness, “That’s alright, then?” He asks. 

 

San’s eyes blink open, and he sits up. Loud splashing bounces racausly across the walls of tile. He runs his hands along his hair to slick it back.

 

“Hm?” The siren asks for clarification. Once again his eyes look inquisitive, in search of something more than a simple answer. But what? 

 

What?

 

Wooyoung practically wants to scream, begging the question: what do you want from me?

 

What more can someone like me I possibly have to give?

 

“You good?” Wooyoung grunts. He’s gotten his dose of heated discomfort for the day.

 

“O-Oh,” The siren squeaks. Wooyoung could tell: it wasn’t what San wanted to hear. Figures, Woo thinks, yet again he says the wrong thing. People should come with manuals, he thinks. Fakery and fun are easy, but genuine connection? Kindness?  _ Comfort _ ? That shit’s difficult.

 

San nods, “I’ll be fine.” He sounds deflated as Woo starts pacing toward the door. At least- Wooyoung thinks he does. Does he? Or maybe he’s just tired. Maybe it’s projection on Wooyoung’s part. The human feels like he ought to do more, but what? It’s probably best if he’s out of the way. Except-

 

“Wait,” Wooyoung mutters. He glances over his shoulder to see San hadn’t returned underwater just yet.

 

“Hm?” San’s head tilts inquisitively.

 

Wooyoung crosses back over to the tub, “I’m gonna stay here for awhile.”

 

“Wh- Really? I mean- You don’t have to-“

 

“Yeah, I do,” Wooyoung insists. “If I don’t you’re gonna try to get up yourself and break something else.”

 

San’s brows furrow, “Will not.” The human raises his brows incredulously. San pouts, “You- You don’t have to-“

 

“I want to,” Wooyoung cuts him off. San’s lips snap shut, curbing whatever protest he had in mind. Wooyoung drops to the ground, leaning against the side of the tub defiantly.

 

“That can’t be comfortable,” The siren retorts.

 

“It doesn’t have to be.”

 

San frowns at that, “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

 

“Then-“ Wooyoung lowers his voice to a whisper, “-go to sleep.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

“Can’t or won’t?”

 

“Same thing.”

 

Woo snorts, “No it’s not.”

 

“I can’t sleep knowing you’re just gonna be uncomfortable until I sleep. Therefore I won’t sleep until I’m assured that I’m not being a burden to you.”

 

“I already told you, you’re not a burden to me- to us.”

 

San shrinks into the water a bit as if hiding something. Wooyoung wonders if this is what going crazy feels like. He’s got half a mind to grab the siren by his dimpled cheeks and squeeze them. Why can’t he see that being hurt doesn’t make him some huge hindrance? Why doesn’t he understand that he’s worth it? Worth every ounce of effort or exertion or risk - he’s worth it all. One of the few people in the universe that is, far as Wooyoung’s concerned.

 

“You’re not very assuring,” The siren counters.

 

Wooyoung decides to act on that urge he had and grabs San’s cheeks, “Say it- ‘I’m not a burden’.”

 

San’s face scrunches and he whines,“Wh- Wha ahe you doi-“

 

“Say it.”

 

“Seh- wh-“

 

“I am not a burden- say it,” Wooyoung enjoys it too much. It’s sort of like taunting a predator by poking it with a stick. 

 

San’s a benevolent one, though, and for whatever reason he lets Wooyoung stretch and squish his cheeks. The siren’s eyes squint with mirth, almost disappearing.

 

“You’re not saying it,” Wooyoung teases.

 

“I cah- cah tah-“

 

“Start with ‘I’-“

 

“Yeh huhding meh-“

 

“Okay, okay, fine,” Wooyoung relinquishes his vice on San’s cheeks, opting to pat the reddened skin gently. “Fine…” 

 

He’s so close.

 

San is so close, Wooyoung realizes. Everything quiets, dulls around them, and the only thing in that large, communal bathroom is him and Choi San. Wooyoung’s thumb twitches, finicky, wanting to explore. He chastises himself yet again. How can he be so single-minded? San is hurt and probably exhausted, and all Wooyoung’s brain - all his  _ body _ \- can tell him is that: wow, Choi San is beautiful.

 

“Wooyoung,” The siren’s voice is quiet, but it carries regardless.

 

“Hm?” Wooyoung wakes up, wresting his gaze from the siren’s lips. When did his eyes go there?

 

“If you’re so insistent on staying…” San’s pupils dance anxiously, and he swallows before finishing his thought. “There’s- there’s room in this tub for two.”

 

Waves of heat crash over Wooyoung, and his brain short circuits. When the initial shock of the statement surpasses, he puts effort into digesting it. Room in the tub for two. With the siren. The tub. Full of water. With the siren.

 

Right.

 

The siren.

 

This is totally normal.

 

Wooyoung lets out an unintentionally shaky breath and nods in affirmation. It seems like a better way to be there for San, anyway. How else could a human nap under water?

 

The human’s heart hammers against his chest as the siren leans in. Wooyoung’s eyes flutter closed, and he braces himself.

 

The siren’s kiss.

 

He’d done this once before - when San and him rushed to rescue the crew on Ubureru. San described it to the others as something informal, a passage of an ability, biological processes. He regards it as something almost sterile with casual nonchalance.

 

It sure as hell doesn’t feel that way, though.

 

San rests a hand on Wooyoung’s nape, pulling him closer. At first the kiss is just that: a kiss. Wooyoung wonders if it’s part of the whole “biological process” or just a courtesy on San’s part. He can’t really dwell on it much. The mere sensation of contact is arresting. Wooyoung tries not to surrender too much to it, tries not to melt into it, but it’s so damn difficult. He reminds himself over and over again: this is nothing. This is  _ nothing _ . What’s a kiss between friends, right?

 

_ Right _ ?

 

That thought dissolves completely when San laps at Wooyoung’s lips. Wooyoung’s blood sets alight. He feels pathetic, ashamed even, and stubbornly stamps down the sensation once again. It’s all part of the process. Just a process - a series of them, actually.

 

Wooyoung parts his lips obligingly, and no sooner does the siren’s tongue dip between them. It’s a wondrous thing, entirely too deft to be a normal, human tongue. Woo guesses that’s why it’s capable of the seemingly magical transference of the siren’s superhuman abilities. All of those little trails of thoughts quickly dissipated, washed away by the heat rolling down his body.

 

The siren’s tongue presses somewhere on the roof of Wooyoung’s mouth, and for an instant, the human can’t breathe. That instant stretches out into a second, then two. A few pass, and a dull ache knocks at the human’s chest. This is normal. It’d happened the first time he’d recieved it, too. Wooyoung doesn’t know the details - he’s not interested in them, either. He just knows that he can’t breathe.

 

San pulls Wooyoung closer. The human lets out an involuntary noise - a squeaky whine just leaving his lips, and San starts pulling him down. Down, down, down.

 

Soon, cool water laps at Wooyoung’s face, until that’s completely submerged. All the while, the siren remains latched onto him, mouth to mouth, eyes shut and arms in a firm grip around the hume’s neck.

 

The sensation of being unable to breathe subsides. Or, more properly, it’s forgotten. Even the cold water feels like nothing to Wooyoung. There’s only San.

 

When he separates, it feels too soon. For the sheer technical aspect, of course. How could something over in seconds genuinely allow a human to breathe underwater. Yet, without even realizing, Wooyoung is doing just that. He blinks confusedly, even more baffled that he can see. San returns his gaze with half-lidded eyes.

 

“Just a second,” Wooyoung mutters. The sound is a bit dull, but not completely unclear beneath the surface of the water. The human sits up and heaves a sigh, hoping to vent some of the tension coiled up inside him. When that doesn’t work he gives his cheeks a smack and wrings a hand over his face.

 

He reminds himself again - swears he ought to tattoo it on the back of his eyelids at this point - he’s doing this for a friend. He’s doing this to help San. That’s all there is. Friendship is enough- it’s more than enough. It’s more than he deserves.

 

The mental reality check does little to quell the embers smoldering in his core.

 

Still, personal reservations aside, Wooyoung made a promise. He intends to keep it. So, he does what any good friend, comrade, and fellow crewsman would do. He strips. Unlike San, he keeps his underwear on when he steps into the tub. 

 

Goosebumps prick the human’s body when he’s completely submerged. Also unlike San, he’s not partial to barely-warm water. A shiver runs down his spine, and he clings to the siren for the sole purpose of warmth.

 

The fit in the tub is tight, and they have to take to their sides to lay comfortably. 

 

Wooyoung drapes an arm over the siren’s side loosely, “Okay. Now you have no reason not to go to sleep.”

 

“You win,” San’s low voice somehow manages to sound crystal clear underwater. The siren wriggles himself into a cozy position before his head lolls, resting on the bottom of the tub. It’s by no means comfortable, and Wooyoung’s pretty sure he’s gonna wake up with bruises and aches. 

 

But, feeling the other relax in his grasp makes it all worth it. The siren’s muscles slacken, and he lets out a soft breath. Then, quiet.

 

The day’s toil wore on Wooyoung, too. Once he adjusts to the water’s temperature, it’s not too bad. He shuts his eyes and wills himself to relax in spite of the trace worries that had been persisting for hours. His hand limply dips toward the siren’s stomach, fingers unconsciously grazing the skin.

 

It’s nice.

 

Perhaps one of the most primal, basic comforts a human can indulge in - contact with another. It stokes the simmering embers in his gut, but the heat ignited isn’t sharp or overwhelming. It’s a gentle warmth that spreads throughout the hume’s nervous body, coaxing him into a peaceful sleep.

 

* * *

 

“And this is the bridge!” Hongjoong gestures with a flourish. 

 

Yeosang looks like a tourist gawking with the way his head whips left and right. He coos and gasps, muttering about stuff Hongjoong scarcely understands. (“Is this a plasmalectron projection?” “The chairs look so swivelly.” “The way they nest the sub-atmospheric gear controls within the stellar switches is so intuitive-”). When he’s done making base observations, the cyborg beelines it for the focal point of the room: the navigation console.

 

Standing atop the round table-like surface is their Compass, in all its brass glory. The cyborg drops his tool sack on the ground (the bag hits the floor with a loud, metallic thud, revealing how heavy it actually is). He ghosts his fingers over the surface of the glass dome, leaning in so close his breath fogs the glass.

 

“You’re right about this thing. This is something ancient,” Yeosang says without looking away from the thing. He glances at the projection above, mechanical eyes flitting about wildly in an attempt to keep up with the constant shifting starscape. Even his engineered ocular implants can’t follow the dancing projection for long, and Yeo blinks dazedly after trying for a minute too long. “Can I mess around with it?”

 

Hongjoong grins and nods, “Be my guest- just, be careful please.”

 

“The thing lived under a mountain of junk for years,” Yeosang notes, tapping delicately at the Compass’s exterior. “Not sure how delicate you can say it is.”

 

“That’s… A fair point,” Joong feels silly. He’d never thought of that. It had once been prompted into function with a smack, too. Maybe part of the reason he can’t make heads or tail of the thing is because he’s handling it with  _ too much _ care.

 

“Thanks for letting me on, by the way,” Yeosang says offhandedly. With a bit of force, he yanks the Compass off of the console. Seems like it’s held their magnetically. Good to know.

 

“Thanks for saving our lives,” Hongjoong breathes out. “And fixing up San.”

 

“Anyone would’ve done it.”

 

Thinking back to the many closed doors they’d frantically knocked on - no, anyone would  _ not _ have done it. Nobody did it but him. Hell, the guy sacrificed a couple of drones for their sake. Hongjoong isn’t even positive he’d stick his neck out for a group of total strangers. For his crew? His friends? He’d do it without a second thought. But for a bunch of stupid schmucks who’d just rolled into town and were too dumb to take a hint from the locals? Maybe not.

 

“Has it always been like this here? Daily patrols- blackcoats killing people- that sort of thing?” Hongjoong asks out of curiosity. He bites his tongue for that. It’s not exactly a thoughtful, courteous question. Culling patrols hardly make for lighthearted conversation, and they’ve probably unleashed hell on the poor cyborg’s life. Woops. Before Hongjoong can apologize for the heavy question, Yeosang answers.

 

The cyborg shakes his head as he turns the Compass over in his hands, “No, not at all.”

 

Joong raises an eyebrow at that - now he’s intrigued, “No?”

 

“The patrols are actually a pretty recent thing. I guess now that all the rich people from Above wanna take up more real estate, they’re thinking of sealing up the mines. Making it nice and shit,” Though he speaks directly to Hongjoong, the cyborg doesn’t stop studying the strange mechanism in his hand.

 

“Why didn’t they do that before- seal up the mines, I mean?”

 

“They didn’t give a shit when it was working people who wanted to live there,” Yeosang replies with a hint of bitterness in his tone. “But now they want us out, and, well, the blackcoat police weren’t doing it.”

 

“Wait- like, real police tried to push you out first?” Joong winces at the thought of blackcoats roughing up harmless civilians. It’s a sight he’s had to witness more times than one ought to.

 

Yeosang lets out a chuckle at that, “Well, ‘tried’ is generous. When I was younger things were… Different.” For the first time since seeing the device, Yeosang puts it down. He shrugs, “The blackcoats they were… Okay. Not exactly pleasant, but- I dunno, they understood in a way. They used to be a part of the community.” He smiles fondly, probably looking back on those days with extra rosy glasses. “They’d turn a blind eye more than a few times. Gave out a lot of warnings, pretended not to notice when people had new augments- even if it was like super obvious. Only took people in if it was really serious. Hell, some even knew our names- maybe they were just lazy.” He laughs.

 

Must be nice, Hongjoong thinks. He had no such relationship with the blackcoats. Growing up, police were there to keep the order. His parents always told him to keep his head down around them, keep on his best behavior. Yunho got told to hide and stay real quiet. When he got older, he figured he’d see them on outposts, patrolling around planets or on them. Their presence always irked the junker, and their bleach blond guest did nothing but make his regard for the GC plummet to rock bottom.

 

“When did they start?”

 

“A little less than a year ago,” Yeosang frowns. “The local authorities told us in advance about the bots. Said they were getting pressure from Above, getting spread thin. Of course…” His eyes cast down, “Nobody told us we were gonna get killed.”

 

“God.”

 

“No- It’s- it is what it is,” Yeosang brushes the other off, picking up the Compass yet again.

 

The sound of footsteps behind prompts Joong to turn around. He’s met with the sight of his pilot, the Venusian not-prince, and the youngest darkening the doorway.

 

“Yeosang, you’re staying for dinner, right?” Yunho invites the cyborg.

 

Yeosang nods, fingering the open ports of the ancient device curiously. A beam of light from his eyes scans

 

“Think you can figure that thing out?” Jongho asks.

 

“I’ll try my damndest,” Yeosang pokes another unoccupied port.

 

“Wh- Should you be doing that?” Mingi asks, wide-eyed. “Aren’t you gonna get electrocuted or something?”

 

“Psh,” Yeosang chuckles. “That’s nonsense, I know what I’m-”

 

“Zzzzt.” A spark flashes in one of the ports, jumping to Yeosang.

 

“ZZzzzt- zzz-zzz-t!” Another, then another follows it. Suddenly, there’s bolts of pure electricity wrapping around the cyborg’s arms, slithering like snakes. The sharp sound of them cuts the air. Stunned, Yeosang freezes.

 

“Oh god- he’s broken- we broke him!” Jongho hisses.

 

“Uh- He’s- He’s gonna be fine, right?” Yunho tries to reassure the others (though the inquisitive tone doesn’t help).

 

Mingi mutters sheepishly,“Did I jinx it?”

 

“Y-Yeosang?” Hongjoong asks worriedly. He steps toward the cyborg, extending a hand, but a snap of electricity stops him in his tracks.

 

Yeosang blinks rapidly, eye rolling back a bit. For a second, Joong thinks he’s gonna just pass out then and there, but he doesn’t. He just stands there in place, frozen like a statue. The Compass’s projection flickers madly, as if it’s holding on for dear life, trying to stay afloat. Strange, guttural, stilted sounds echo inside the bridge, and Hongjoong’s heart seizes with nerves. When he looks at the cyborg, he realizes: those sounds aren’t coming from him.

 

What the hell is happening?

 

Yeosang’s body starts shaking, and his knuckles go white as he grips the Compass in a vice.

 

“Is- Is he gonna be okay?” Jongho asks.

 

“It’s- it’s gotta be the Compass,” Hongjoong responds worriedly. He tries to step toward Yeo, but yet again another bolt of electricity jumps from the glass dome dangerously. It’s almost like it’s telling him to keep away.

 

“I’m scared.” “Should we do something?” “How can we help him?” “This entire ship is metal…” “Y-Yeosang, are you okay?” The others murmur, cowering in the entrance.

 

Suddenly, the projection above the Compass disappears completely. For the first time since finding it, the starmap turns completely off. Hongjoong’s heart sinks, and he looks at the man holding it.

 

Yeosang gasps loudly, like he’d been drowning, and his eyes blow wide open. 

 

“Yeosang! Holy shit- are you alright?” Hongjoong asks.

 

The cyborg just blinks. His mouth flaps open, like he’s trying to say something, but no words come out. 

 

Then, without warning, everything stops.

 

For a second, the entire bridge goes quiet. ATEEZ’s crew stays frozen in place, watching in anticipation. They shrink away from the cyborg, waiting for something - anything. An explosion? A body falling to the floor? Electrocution?

 

Yeosang blinks again, and blueish light emits from his eyes. Except, this time, it’s not a scanning beam. This is something different. Hongjoong squints as he tries to figure it out. At first, the light is sort of a hazy blob of a shape, something dimensional. It flickers a bit before stabilizing and, slowly, taking form. The amorphous ball of light shapes into a hologram projection - not to scale, but big enough to occupy most of the open space in the bridge. As the entire event unfolds, Yeosang remains statue still, no longer a man but an instrument to transmit whatever that  _ thing _ is going on.

 

Fuzzy, glitched noise reduces to something tinny and low fidelity until the soundwave finally irons itself out. It refines into a clear audio signal. Everyone’s transfixed.

 

A wave passes over the hazy hologram, and the image clarifies more and more with each passover until, finally, Hongjoong sees it. They all see it.

 

For the first time ever, something that had been ceaselessly unclear, jittery, and fleeting presents itself as a clear image. In it sits a young man. He blinks confusedly into whatever capture point had taken his image. Though the scale is small, he looks so real, Hongjoong feels like that man is watching them. 

 

“Is- Is this thing on?” The man in the projection asks sheepishly. He speaks. He speaks - and his voice sounds so eerily familiar to Hongjoong. But from where? Where had he heard that soft tone before? Joong doesn’t know.

 

The entire crew present gasps at the emergence of a genuine transmission of sorts.

 

“Is- is this live feed?” The Venusian asks, eyes wide. “Is this happening right now?” 

 

“Can he see us right now?” Yunho adds.

 

“Testing, testing, one, two, three,” The hologram backs up from the source of capture so his entire frame fills the viewport. He coughs awkwardly.

 

“I… I don’t think so,” Hongjoong murmurs, half-dazed. 

 

“Eden-” The holographic man seems to be talking to someone out of view, “-Eden how do I know if it’s on?”

 

Another person - someone close to the viewport but not within view - laughs, “Look at the light, dummy.”

 

“Oh. R-right. The light,” The holographic man scratches his nape, and a goofy grin crosses his features. “Wait- This won’t be recorded, will it? Like- this part? ‘Cause it would ruin the- the whole-” He waves his hands in a vague gesture.

 

The invisible person - Eden, apparently - laughs again, “No, no, not at all. Don’t worry, I’ll delete it.” He definitely didn’t.

 

“Right. Good- good. Yeah just delete all this, um, stupid shit, please.”

 

“You got it, boss. Need anything else?”

 

“No, I’m okay.”

 

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it, then,” The sound of footsteps follows Eden’s words of departure.

 

The apparent star of the transmission looks directly at the viewport again. He takes a deep breath and with it shucks all the err and awkwardness that had just transpired. 

 

“Captain’s Log day… Well, let’s just say it’s day one, for the sake of ease. Or should I…” He clears his throat. “Captain Maddox’s log, day one.”

 

Captain Maddox.

 

Captain Maddox.

 

Captain. Maddox.

 

_ Maddox _ .

 

That sounds familiar.  _ Why _ does that sound familiar?

 

“Holy shit,” Mingi mutters, putting it together first. He looks at Hongjoong, “Mads… Dex… Mad-dex- Maddox.”

 

Fuck.

 

Fuck.

 

Holy fuck.

 

Hongjoong doesn’t even get time to let the epiphany process, because the log - Captain Maddox’s log - plays on.

 

“Yeah. We’ll do that. Ahem- Captain Maddox’s logbook, day one…” He looks into the the capture device as if he’s speaking directly to someone. It’s To Hongjoong.

 

“People want it.”

 

That’s the voice from his dream.

 

“People dream about it.”

 

That’s exactly what he said then.

 

“It can be different to every individual. It can complete us-”

 

Or it can destroy us, Hongjoong completes the thought in his head.

 

“It can change the world. People call it-”

 

“Treasure,” Hongjoong whispers. His crew looks at him perturbedly, but they quickly forget the weirdness of the moment, sucked into the projection just as much as Joong is. 

 

“The sound of wind blowing from the horizon, the warmth of the sun hitting the ocean waves, the vibration of the sand beating like the hearts of youth… We’re at the starting point of this long journey.

 

“The freezing winds may make us shiver, the heat of the sun may make us thirsty. The vibrations of the sand may swallow us! But we’ll never stop! 

 

“Gold!

 

Eternal life!

 

Honor!

 

Love- fame!

  
So let me ask you: what. Is. Your. Treasure?”

 

There’s a brief pause, and the bridge goes completely mute. Captain Maddox steps closer to the capture device and extends a hand. Looking earnestly into the viewport as if he’s truly, genuinely there, looking someone in the eye, he asks:

 

“Will you join us?”

 

The image pauses abruptly, stilling precisely there, at that point. Maddox remains frozen, suspended in the air with his hand extended. Hongjoong feels tempted to reach out and touch it. To grasp for it, to ask him all of the questions plaguing him, to thank him, to celebrate him-

 

Maddox disappears.

 

Just like that, as quickly as he’d come, the hologram vanishes. However, it’s not for naught. The image is replaced with coordinates. Genuine coordinates, displayed clearly, enduringly.

  
A projected screen above the pilot’s console animates. Somehow, some way, the Compass had managed to transmit its projected coordinates directly to the navigation computer. Joong can see the precise location pulled up in the GC database, ready, waiting for them to just give the final word.

  
  


But how?

 

_ How? _

 

The Compass is still far from intact. Unfortunately, that’s another question that doesn’t get to see an answer. The transmission dies, and the Compass powers down. In the same instant, Yeosang shudders and blinks wildly.

 

“Y-Yeosang, are you okay?!” Is the first thing Hongjoong asks, rushing to the cyborg’s side now that he doesn’t have electricity jumping around him. 

 

“I’m- I’m fine,” Yeosang answers dazedly. He inspects himself, for any superficial injuries, then inspects the Compass. “Shit,” He hisses.

 

“Wh- Are you sure you’re alright?” Jongho asks incredulously. “You just got turned into a hologram projector by some ancient artifact.”

 

“No, no, I’m fine,” Yeosang twists and turns the Compass around in his hands just like he’d been doing before. He prods at the ports, but they’re unresponsive. Just like before. “Shit- I- I wanna get back in.”

 

The crew rushes to calm him,“You wanna- what?” “Dude- It’s okay, take a second.” “Just- Just relax.” “Don’t poke it like that, you could make it worse.”

 

Yeosang ignores them, scanning the Compass and formulating a schematic, turning it over in his hands, squinting at it- sniffing it, even. He does everything he can, determined to figure it out as everyone lets the reality of what’d they’d just seen wash over them.

  
  


* * *

 

“-hwa?”

 

Seonghwa’s face scrunches with irritation. He’d nodded off for the umpteenth time of the day. It’s not quite dinner time - he’s certain of that. So why is he being woken up now?

 

He despises the state of life he’d been shunted into. Whether he realized it or not, what the captain had sentenced him more cruelly than the Coalition standard ever mandated. In a normal prison, prisoners know the time. They see daylight - or at least artificial daylight. They know where they were and had a certain, strict schedule. There are even recreational activities for those who are well behaved. Most importantly: there’s other people.

  
Seonghwa wants to be special forces one day. He’d done some light training in the academy - volunteered to endure torture so he could be licensed to administer and assist, taken extracurricular stealth courses. Yet, none of that prepared him for the trial of isolation. Sure, he saw and heard other people occasionally, but the delinquent cruise of the stolen ship is… A mixed bag, to say the least. They don’t count. 

 

Hwa is confident in himself, in his fortitude and in the soundness of his mind. But hearing the captain’s panicked voice starts to make him question that.

 

“S-Seonghwa, is that you?” 

 

The imprisoned PO finally opens his eyes to regard the other. What the hell does he want? Except, he appears to be genuinely distressed. Something else seems slightly off, too. Slightly different. But what? 

 

“Seongwha-!” The captain’s dressed differently to start with. Does he have… More piercings? That’s not what’s most peculiar about the entire picture, though. It’s his tone. His expression. The way he reaches out, through the bars, to get to the petty officer.

 

What the hell is he trying?

 

Seonghwa shrinks back, and his eyes go wide with terror, “What the hell do you want with me?”

 

“S-Seonghwa-!” The captain looks frantic. His voice sounds peculiar. Not quite right - like it’s coming from the other side of the wall. But the short man is clearly right there.“Please-!”

 

Hwa swallows down the lump of nerves that had lodged in his throat. He assesses the situation and decides: this can be to his advantage. For whatever reason, the mad man is rushing toward him. Hwa figures maybe he can hold on tight and keep him pinned against the cell, then do something to subdue him. 

 

“Seonghwa t… m… ju-” The captain’s voice distorts even more, sounding glitched. It’s genuinely terrifying, like the entire world is a computer simulation crashing.

 

Determinedly, Seonghwa shoves aside his fear and reaches out to grasp the man’s wrist.

  
Captain Hongjoong shouts, panicked, “Seonghwa- I- do- j-!”

 

Seonghwa’s fingertips just scarcely ghost the fabric of the man’s sleeve as the indiscernible shouts escalate into a caterwaul. It’s deafening and horrific, and just as Hwa feels the coarse fabric of the captain’s cuff, he wakes.

 

Seonghwa wakes with a start in the exact place he’d fallen asleep in  on his cot. A cold sweat clams up his skin, and his heart hammers against his sternum. His chest heaves as he gasps for air. It takes a minute for the PO to collect himself.

  
“Wh… Wh…” Hwa mutters dumbly into the empty jail. He presses his face against the bar, searching every corner within his sights for signs of life.

 

There’s nobody.

 

Nothing.

 

Not even a bug.

  
Certainly no manic, shouting captain.

 

Yet, Seonghwa can’t shake the feeling that something happened. He doesn’t know what or to whom or precisely when - but something feels different. Off. Changed. His strange dream is still fresh in his mind.

 

That bastard captain looked so, so dismayed. Why? 

 

More importantly: why of all people would he call out to Seonghwa? And since when does he call him that - Seonghwa. The captain seems to prefer nicknames and taunts: prettyboy, twat, prick, blackcoat. Never Seonghwa. The PO wouldn’t dream of allowing such a thing.

 

Seonghwa grasps at his chest. It aches - residual anxiety from the dream still plaguing him, no doubt. He can still feel his heart pounding.

 

The petty officer heaves a sigh, defeated. His brain still feels sluggish, weighed down by sleepiness. However, given the dream he’d just woken from, he knows sleep won’t happen any time soon.

 

Damn captain.

 

As if seeing him during waking hours isn’t bad enough. Now he can’t even give Seonghwa peace in his dreams.The petty officer grits his teeth, and residual nerves transition into bitter anger. 

 

He’ll pay for this, Seonghwa thinks. It’ll be a life sentence- no. A double life sentence. Triple even. Three lifetimes- maybe even ore. He’ll personally see to it that the man is kept on life support even when his body wants nothing more than to quit - just so he can be imprisoned longer. Use all of the healthcare his pension grants him to outlive the fucker out of sheer spite.

 

That thought gives Seonghwa comfort. He considers that perhaps  he ought to be less vengeful. In truth, he’s genuinely not a vindictive person. 

 

But “Captain” Kim Hongjoong is special. He’s especially lucky for managing to somehow eke his way out of everything (so far). He’s especially irritating and, no doubt, has a special place in hell just for him.

 

Seonghwa can’t wait until the day he can send the captain there.

 

He just has to get out. Somehow.

 

* * *

 

Yeosang pouts at the Compass as if maybe that’s the key to getting it to work again. He’d insisted on bringing it to the dinner table after the crew had to practically drag him there. No matter what he did, how he fiddled with it, the cyborg couldn’t replicate the results he’d gotten. Its infuriating to him. Hongjoong just feels worried for his safety at this point.

 

“I’m sorry,” Yeosang sighs, dejectedly slurping on spicy noodles and staring at the damn thing.

 

“For what? It’s fine,” Hongjoong replies. He’s told Yeo that it’s okay about a hundred times. Maybe a hundred and one will do the trick. “Just focus on eating.”

 

“Mmmm,” Yeo hums sadly into his noodles. 

 

Excitement still buzzes around most of the crew - though it’s not quite the giddy time. Even after sitting down for dinner, all they could think about was the Compass and Captain Maddox’s log. They went back and forth about it for awhile, shooting out theories and mildly freaking out. It’d taken all the will in his little body to keep Hongjoong standing up and sane. He feels so vindicated, so keen, so impatient, so frantic - he feels  _ so _ many things  _ so _ much - that it all sort of numbs him. He’s sure that, at some point, he himself will actually have a full on meltdown. Just not in front of the crew. He has to show a brave, not crazed face to them.

 

“Hey, where are the other two?” Jongho asks from the other side of the table. 

 

“Oh- I think Mingi was gonna try and get them. They’re probably sleeping since they ignored the intercom,” Yunho remarks offhandedly before sipping bright red broth from his bowl. Jongho raises his eyebrows implicitly at the captain.

 

Joong’s a bit dubious, too, but it sure as hell isn’t any of his business. If the two are copulating, he definitely wants  _ no _ part of it. He’s honestly relieved that he doesn’t hear a thing. Surprising, considering those two.

 

“C-Captain,” Mingi strides into the kitchen rushedly. He’s breathing heavily like he’d sprinted the short distance from the bedrooms to the kitchen.

 

“Uh,” Hongjoong looks the Venusian up and down. His eyes are wide with terror, and his lips flap open and closed at a loss. “Did you see something you didn’t wanna see?”

 

“I- I-” Mingi straightens himself, and bites his lip. “Can you- can you follow me?”

 

“What?” That gets Hongjoong’s attention.

 

“Hey, what’s up?” Yunho stands up before Joong does, ready to take to the Venusian’s side.

 

“Just the captain,” Mingi says sternly. He looks at Joong pleadingly.

 

“U-Uh, okay,” Hongjoong complies, concern seeping into his chest and dripping down into his stomach. He has a feeling Mingi isn’t gonna drag him to someone’s bedroom to see them getting it on.

 

Hongjoong pads behind Mingi anxiously, and he’s surprised to follow Mingi not to either of their rooms but to the bathroom. The pair enters silently.

 

The place is… Completely unremarkable. There’s stalls and sinks, showerheads and a single tub toward the back. It’s completely quiet - so, what gives?

 

“Did you see a ghost or something?” Hongjoong half-jokes.

 

Mingi gasps, devastated, “Wh- There’s a ghost on this ship?!”

 

“I-” Joong wants to laugh at that, but there’s more pressing matters at hand. Damn. Soon, he thinks, he’ll use Mingi’s apparent fear of the paranormal to tease him relentlessly. “Mingi, what did you want to show me?”

 

A grim expression falls over the Venusian’s face, and he slowly steps toward the tub. 

 

Is someone in there?

 

Hongjoong joins Mingi’s side, quirking an inquisitive brow. He follows the other’s gaze into the basin, and- oh. That’s what he saw.

 

The Venusian’s voice lowers to a whisper, “I- I think San drowned Wooyoung.”

 

Shitting christ.

 

Hongjoong lets out a massive sigh of relief and wrings a hand down his face. The Siren’s Kiss is different from sex. Yet, clarifying for Mingi still feels like telling a kid about the birds and the bees. As if sensing their presence, Wooyoung stirs beneath the surface of the water.

 

“Oh my go- he’s moving! D-Did you see that?!” Mingi - tall, statuesque, more than a head taller than Joong Mingi - cowers behind the captain. “Fuck-fuck- fuck-”

 

_ “Splaaash!” _ “Aaaaaaaaaah-!” The echoing of water and Mingi’s shrill scream (which happened to be  _ right by _ Joong’s ear) echo loudly in the tiled room. Mingi attaches to Hongjong like a bur.

 

“Shhhhh-!” Wooyoung shushes the Venusian indignantly, pressing a finger to his lips.

 

Mingi cries,“Oh my god- oh my god- captain- captain do somethingdosomething-”

 

Hongjoong rolls his eyes, “Mingi, that’s not a ghost.”

 

“Of course it’s not,” Mingi replies. “It’s a  _ zombie _ . We have comic books on Venus, too, you know.”

 

“Would you shut the fuck up?!” Wooyoung whispers, irate. “San needs to  _ sleep _ .”

 

“Wooyoung,” Hongjoong asks flatly. “Can you please inform our Venusian friend that you are not dead.”

 

“What? Why would I be dead?”

 

“I don’t think Mingi grasps the concept of the Siren’s Kiss,” Joong answers.

 

“Well- Neither do I, but it works,” Woo turns to Mingi, “Mingi, I’m not dead. Humanoids can temporarily inherit the ability to breathe underwater from sirens. I wanted to keep San company, so-” He gestures vaguely, “-here I am. Not dead.”

 

“Wh- R-really?” Mingi asks, slowly coming out from behind the captain.

 

“Yes.” “Yes, really.” The other two answer.

 

“Oh. O-Oh…” Shame visibly washes over Mingi in waves until he finally stands upright and unlatches from Hongjoong. “Sorry,” He apologizes sheepishly.

 

“You really thought San killed him?” Joong asks, kind of devastated on San’s behalf. Come on -  _ seriously _ ?

 

“Uh-” Mingi wrings his hands sheepishly. “Admittedly I am not my best self right now.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Joong answers with deadpan disbelief.

 

“I mean- I’ve considered putting people to death over menial things.”

 

“Uh-huh.” 

 

“Y-Y’know if someone annoys you-”

 

“Mingi, you can stop now.”

 

“Right- Thanks captain- Oh!” The Venusian brightens in an instant, clapping, “Wooyoung, dinner’s ready by the way! That’s what I wanted to tell you. Before- Y’know.”

 

“Before you decided to tell the captain that San killed me?” Wooyoung asks facetiously.

 

“Uh- Right- That, uh- Yeah-”

 

“You can go now, Mingi,” Hongjoong decides to nip Mingi’s stupidity in the ass before he carries on about homicide more.

 

“Right- Thanks-” Mingi waves awkwardly, giggling to himself like a loon as he takes his leave. Idiot. (A loveable one, of course.)

 

“Did you need anything else?” Wooyoung asks when the tall Venusian disappears through the door. “I’m not really hungry, but I’d appreciate if you’d save some.”

 

Hongjoong leans forward. It’s not that he really  _ wants _ to see wh’s inside, he just needs to see  _ enough _ .

 

“He naked in there?” The captain asks pointedly. It’s not like he really wants to know if two people on his ship are together. But it feels like the sort of thing he  _ ought _ to know. Could affect all sorts of things that go down socially on the ship, and it’s helpful to have context for things in advance. The captain’s just about ready to celebrate those two getting over their weird hump, but then Woo answers.

 

“I think he likes to sleep nude,” The first mate says dismissively. “And I-” He points to the waistband of his underwear, “- _ don’t _ . Because that’s what we were doing.  _ Sleeping _ .”

 

“Yeah?” Hongjoong has his doubts - but why would Wooyoung want to keep something like that a secret? Why would it matter?

 

“Yes,” Wooyoung bristles at the implication. He crosses his arms and his gaze drops down - his defensive stance. “And I’d appreciate you understanding that.”

 

“Right, right…”

 

“Listen, captain,” Wooyoung lowers his voice and leans in a bit (though his eyes are still hesitant to meet the other’s), “If we  _ did _ do anything, trust me, you’d have heard it.”

 

Touché.

 

Also  _ gross _ .

 

Hongjoong throws his hands up in defeat, “I believe you.” He backs up a bit. “Just, uh, let us know next time before you disappear for, uh-” His eyes shoot to the tub again “-naked naptime.”

 

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. What? It’s not like Joong’s gonna let him off without at least a  _ little bit _ of teasing.

 

“That all?” Woo sounds clearly annoyed. “You stayed back to ask me that?”

 

“I mean, if you are-”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“I’m just saying, I don’t, like,  _ want to know _ want to know, but… If something like that happens on my ship, I think - even if you tell nobody else -  _ I _ should know. In case you two start acting all crazy on me. Or if- god forbid- something goes wrong.”

 

“There’s nothing-”

 

“God- forget I said anything,” Joong relents. The more he gets to know Wooyoung, the more he learns that Woo prefers to let people in on his terms. Joong figures if he wants to talk about something, he’ll do it when he damn well pleases and no sooner. It’s not worth pushing or prodding him and sowing seeds of resentment. If he wants to keep his not-love life private, then so be it. Hongjoong just prays it doesn’t blow up to the point that it affects the others on his ship.

 

Hongjoong supposes that’s a pretty lofty “what if” scenario and decides to let it go. For now.

 

He bids a quick farewell to Wooyoung and returns to the kitchen. Mingi’s gone (perhaps hiding in shame), and the remaining three huddle on one side of the bench, a whispering cluster.

 

“Damn, what’d I miss?” Hongjoong asks. The three appear to be… Conspiring. 

 

Their gazes simultaneously dart to the captain, and they freeze - like they’d been caught red-handed. But doing what? The captain narrows his eyes suspiciously.

 

“What’s, uh, what’s going on?” 

 

The trio glance between one another until Yunho, the nonverbally elected representative, pipes up.

 

“We were just talking about Yeosang,” The canis grins, and his tail wags cutely. He slings an arm around the cyborg sandwiched between him and Jongho. “About how talented he is. How he’s  _ such _ a good mechanic and tinkerer.”

 

“Uh- Yeah,” Hongjoong’s face wrinkles with genuine befuddlement. He’s not sure what’s happening, but he’ll play along. “You sure are,” He says to the cyborg who grins and flushes.

 

“Yeah he’s so much better than Yunho with machines,” Jongho adds.

 

Yunho glares at the youngest for a second before turning back to his sunny self, “Yeah- What he said. I mean- like, I’m a pilot, and I know some ship stuff, but he-” The canis grabs Yeosang’s cheek “-is so talented.”

 

Hongjoong turns to face Yeosang pointedly. An embarrassed blush tints his cheeks and ears, and his fingers fiddle aimlessly in his lap. 

 

“Yeosang,” Joong asks the cyborg directly, “What’s this about?”

 

“Uh- It’s- it’s nothing really just, like, an idea…”

 

“An idea about what?”

 

“W-Well the Compass it’s- it’s fascinating.”

 

“It is.”

 

“And, w-well, I feel like I could figure it out given more time.”

 

“You think so?”

 

“Pl-plus, um, I noticed nobody in your employ is as savvy as me- no insult intended…”

 

“That’s a fair statement.”

 

“So…”

 

“So…?” Hongjoong wants to just yell: “out with it!”, but Yeosang is so hesitant, so timid, he’s afraid he’ll scare the guy. He’d welcomed them into his home so graciously, wrapped up San and told them about life in BH, about his life. Why is he acting all shy now?

 

“Uh- I was… I was just…”

 

“Just what?”

 

“I thought maybe… I dunno… If- If you wanted- if it wasn’t a burden, that… Well- Actually maybe I shouldn’t- I meant-”

 

“Can we keep him?!” Yunho blurts out loudly, tail batting around wildly behind him. Both he and Jongho hug Yeosang, probably squeezing the life out of him - poor thing. Yeosang gives the captain a coy smile and nods in affirmation of the canis’s sentiment.

 

“You- you want to stay?” Hongjoong’s more surprised than anything else. The thought thrills him initially, but he feels obligated to talk through it - if only a bit. Two individuals had already impulsively thrown their lives in the bin to join their side. One inadvertently and one thoughtlessly. While Hongjoong adores both San and Mingi - he loves their presence, loves having them on the ship - he’s aware that they’re both facing challenges adjusting. He wouldn’t wish the same on Yeosang.

 

“If you would have me,” Yeosang answers with a nod. 

 

Hongjoong considers that, unlike the other two, Yeosang isn’t naive. He has genuine experience with the outside world, with the stark, ugly reality in the post-expansion universe. He’s seen people of all races, shapes, and sizes just from living in BH. He’s also seen hardship and death. His perspective isn’t one coated in sugar or steeped in idealism. It’s probably harsh, extraordinarily so.

 

“Have you… Have you thought about this?” Hongjoong asks. He searches the other’s face for any signs of coercion or reservation.

 

“I have,” Yeosang replies more confidently this time. He sounds serious.

 

“What about your life here?” The captain asks. He takes a seat across from the tangled trio. “Your- your workshop is all here, your drones… You lived your entire life in BH, didn’t you?”

 

Yeosang lets out a sigh, “My home won’t exist for long. With the rate the cullings are going, Sub-Sector D will be cleared in a few months. Everyone will flee or- well… You know,” He frowns and, briefly, a far-away look glints in his eyes. “Soon, even cybernetics won’t help us.”

 

Joong’s heart drops at that. Those people are suffering, and one of their few leases on life will soon be up. His gut reaction is “How can I help? What can I do?” - but he knows better than that. There’s sectors, planets, galaxies of people struggling, but no matter how good his intentions, how  _ strong _ his desire to help is, Hongjoong understands. He can’t save them all.

 

There’s the possibility that Yeosang is just using them as an out. It’d be smart. And, hell, even if that were true, the benefit would be mutual with the cyborg’s skillset. But Yeo doesn’t seem the type. He’s clever enough; he probably could’ve gotten out a long time ago if he really wanted to. Plus, he’d be better off screwing someone else over than them. Someone with fewer criminals and more money. Crossing ATEEZ while knowing the types they have onboard would be unwise to say the least.   
  


No. 

 

Yeosang’s being honest - the captain’s gut tells him so.

 

“Why, then?” Hongjoong asks.

 

“To be honest…” Yeosang hesitates, pupils flitting around nervously. “It just- it sounds dumb-”

 

“Just say it.”

 

“I-” The cyborg sighs. “It feels…  _ Right _ . Is- Is that weird?”

 

A little smile tugs at Joong’s lips as he shakes his head, “No, it’s not.”

 

“I dunno. Saying it loud makes it sound stupid. I just-” The cyborg deflates a bit. “My- I- I spent my whole life in BH and now everything I know is just-” He looks down at his hands. “-crumbling away. Getting wiped out. There’s an entire universe out there, and I’ve only seen it through screens and through the people I’ve met.” His green eyes meet the captain’s more resolute than ever. “Then I meet you and- and this thing, and- I just feel like- like this is it. This is my time to move on. Not- Not that I want to use you- please don’t think that-”

 

“No, no that’s-” Hongjoong holds a hand up, “That’s fine. I get it.” He glances at the other two who are looking at him like kids who’d brought in a cute stray. The captain supposes that’s not an inaccurate take on the situation. “It’s important to follow your heart, even if it’s unsure and the odds seem stacked against you.”

 

Yeosang relaxes a little bit with the sympathy, “Then, if I may formally ask: would you have me as one of your crew? I promise I’ll pull my weight and-” He taps the Compass “-it will be an undying mission of mine to get this thing working.”

 

Hongjoong flashes a wide grin and nods, “We’re happy to have you.”

 

Jongho and Yunho erupt into a flurry of tail-wagging, shrill-screeching jubilation,“Oh my god-” “Thank you!” “I promise I’ll love him and pet him and look after him-” “Y-You guys can let go now…” “Yes!” “I’ll show him the rooms.” “Someone get Wooyoung and San.” “I think I’m getting a bit crushed.” “-and Mingi, too!” “Do you snore loud?” “Do cyborgs snore at all?” “Guys…” “I gotta find the nail polish.”

 

“Alright!” Hongjoong shouts over the mayhem. “Why don’t we help Yeosang bring his things over- since- wow, you know, you’re the first person who’s on this ship that actually, like, has time to pack stuff. Huh. You’ve got a nice setup, I wonder where we can put it...”

 

Yeosang chuckles, “There’s no rush. The next patrol isn’t until tomorrow morning. I can do it myself-”

 

“No. We’re helping,” Hongjoong cuts the other off. He glances around at the relatively empty kitchen. “At least a few of us are.” Assessing the situation again, the captain nods to himself as he makes a plan. “Yunho, set some food aside for Woo and San- and for the… You know. Jongho, you’re with me. We’ll help Yeosang get his affairs in order. Any questions?”

 

“Are you sure?” Yeosang asks, nibbling on his lower lip anxiously. “I really don’t want to impose on you.”

 

“Any  _ other _ questions?” Hongjoong counters with a chuckle.

 

“Am I in charge?” Yunho queries.

 

Joong sighs, “Yes, Yunho, you’re in charge while I’m gone and Wooyoung is- whatever.”

 

“ _Sick_.”

 

“Alright, finish up, then we’ll head out,” Hongjoong says.

 

“Um, actually,” Yeosang adds. His posture straightens up, and something glints in his eyes. Something tricky, mischievous. “Before I leave the colony, I have one thing to do.”

 

“What is it? Will it take long?” Joong asks.

 

Yeosang presses his lips together, “Well… Your help would definitely be appreciated.”

 

Jongho’s brows furrow, “Your vagueness is kinda worrying.”

 

“Let’s just go to my place for now. I can fill you in there. It’ll be quick- and fun! I promise.”

 

“Uh…” “Okay.”

 

With that mysterious and vaguely alarming nugget, the three are off. Yunho chatters excitedly about being “the boss” as they leave out the exit ramp, and Jongho tries to carry Yeosang - just to see if he can. It turns out that, yes, Yeosang is very carryable (“I made myself as lightweight as possible - within the range of appropriateness, of course. I want to be as close to organic weight as I can.” He says.) BH comes to life at night just the same as it was during the day. 

 

When Hongjoong walks the streets, he has a new appreciation of the people who live within them. In spite of their harrowing reality, they carry on doggedly. Sure, these people could flee to lower sub-sectors. Maybe they could avoid the horror of the killer patrols at the cost of accelerating their sickness. They’re presented with two options: wither away rapidly or be terminated in an instant. 

 

Instead of taking either of those, they chose a third one: live. 

 

Moving down would be giving in - it’s what they want up there. For the residents of the Under - or the Guts or whatever - to go quietly. Too bad for them: the people of BH are, if nothing else, stubborn. They catcall and peddle whatever wares they have, wave skewers of roasted meat in the faces of passers by and huddle around barrel fires because they need to. Because life can’t stop and move on just because some rich bastards from up Above think it should. Because they were here first and that’s where they want to stay.

 

Hongjoong can’t say whether or not their choice to stay put is safe or advisable or even smart - but it’s brave. For that, he appreciates those people (even the ones calling him “little boy” or aggressively trying to sell him stuff) a little more.

 

* * *

 

Yunho stirs, tangling himself in the sheets of his bed. When he yawns, it rolls through his entire body, making him arch his back and stretch out his arms. He’d been doing this little dance for the past forty minutes or so. Tossing, turning, yawning and squeezing his eyes shut stubbornly. Much to his misfortune, no amount of willpower seems able to put him back to sleep. Damnit.

 

He thought helping unload Yeosang’s stuff would’ve tired him out enough, but apparently not. The cyborg had brought over a bunch of stuff - his work table, a couple carts of straightup junk parts, little handy bots and his entire twelve-screen PC setup. After some deliberation, the (conscious) crew agreed that the nook next to the loading ramp was a good corner for him. He set up a couple of desks and lined the wall with some work surfaces. He even brought a cute little vacuuming bot!

 

In the end, Yeo’s setup fits really nicely. It’s not like the cargo bay is  _ actually _ used for cargo, anyways. Most of the time it ends up being the site of slapdash, dangerous escapes. Giving it a real, practical use such as “cyborg workshop” makes the entire ATEEZ operation feel so  _ legit _ .

 

It’s a lot less cool at three-twenty AM (BH time). Yunho groans, turning over to stifle the sound in his pillow. Maybe suffocation will work. Not deathly suffocation - just enough to knock a person unconscious.

 

The canis sighs into his pillow and decides that, no, he shouldn’t suffocate himself. Not today, he thinks. Not today.

 

Resigned, the humecanis sits up and swings his legs over the edge of his bed. The cool metal of the floor sends a shiver up his spine. Too lazy to care about slippers, he lumbers over to his door and heads down the hall.

 

Dim light glows from the common area just down the hall. Yunho plods toward it like moth to a flame, eager to break the tedium of pitiful wakefulness. A glass of water or maybe a cup of tea, he thinks to himself. A snack would be good too. Really good. 

 

No - he scolds himself internally. Bad Yunho. No food.

 

He tries not to get into the food.  _ Tries _ \- but it’s so damn tempting, and who  _ doesn’t _ get a case of the late night munchies every once in awhile? Surely the GC accounted for that when allocating their rations. Right?

 

All fantasies of a late night snack perish the instant he crosses the threshold into the common area. The smell hit him first. It wasn’t the chemicals they used to clean, not some food left out or the metallic tang of the processed water. Someone was there. Someone had gotten there first, and Yunho sees that someone sitting lone at the kitchen table, mostly obscured by the low light, hunched over a mug of something. In spite of the low light, Yunho can tell immediately: broad shoulders, slender waist, long arms and a faint clean scent.

 

Mingi.

 

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Yunho asks, trying to ignore his tail’s wagging. He suddenly feels underdressed, indecent in nothing but his underwear and a tee. He crosses over to the cupboards to prepare himself some tea.

 

There’s a bit of a pause before the other speaks, and from that Yunho knows: something is wrong.

 

“Uh, no,” Mingi replies, his voice raspy. Is that from sleep or from something else? Crying, perhaps. Yunho listens closely to see if he can tell.

 

“How long you been up?” The canis asks.

 

“Oh, uh, I dunno.” 

 

“Mind a little company?”

 

“Not at all,” Mingi’s gaze finally lifts from his cup, and through the darkness Yunho can see a weak smile. “Please, join me.”

 

Yunho does just that once his tea’s steeped enough. He takes the seat next to Mingi, scooting close. 

 

“What’s keeping you up?” Yunho asks.

 

“Wha-? Oh, um, nothing,” Mingi lies. He’s terrible at it. “Just… You know…”

 

“You don’t look so good. Are you feeling sick?”

 

“N-No.”

 

“Hungry?”

 

“That’s not-”

 

“Thirsty?”

 

“I- I already have a drink?”

 

(Yunho almost quips “horny?” but opts to keep his comforting tasteful. Mingi’s a classy guy, quirks aside.)

 

“Oh- Right,” Yunho chuckles. “Sorry it just- it seems like something’s up.”

 

Mingi shakes his head in denial.

 

“Okay, I lied,” Yunho sighs. “I  _ know _ something’s up.”

 

“You know-?”

 

“Mhm. I can tell.”

 

Mingi lets out a long breath, “Are you a psychic, too?”

 

The canis cracks a little smile at the dumb question, “Yes. That’s exactly what I am - a psychic. And I predict that…” He pretends to think hard, “You’re gonna tell me why you’re drinking a cup of tea at three in the morning all alone in the dark.”

 

The Venusian’s eyes just barely catch the low light from the kitchen. They dart between his mug and Yunho’s soft, discerning gaze.

 

Yunho relents a little, “You don’t have to tell me, I guess. I just- if I don’t know what’s bothering you I can’t help you, and…” He frowns. “I wanna help you.”

 

Mingi clutches his mug more tightly and bites his lip nervously, “It’s just that- every time I close my eyes…” He’s hesitant, like just saying whatever is on his mind pains him. “I just see that- that scene all over again.”

 

That scene?

 

It takes Yunho a second, and then he realizes: he means  _ that _ scene.

 

“The patrol,” The canis completes the thought. Mingi nods, and a shudder runs over his body.

 

For awhile, everything goes quiet. He just sits there - stares into his mug as if looking into an oracle that’ll deliver life’s most pressing answers. All it does is float steam at him. Yunho’s not sure what to say. He’s seen some pretty ugly stuff in his life, but nothing quite like that. What can he tell a guy who’s barely ever left his manicured, sheltered castle before? 

 

Yunho loops an arm around Mingi’s waist, hugging him close, and rests his chin on the other’s shoulder, “Hey, we’re okay now. Everyone is safe, and San’s healing. Nothing’s gonna happen to us- nothing’s gonna happen to you. I won’t let it.” He rubs his thumb in circles reassuringly.

 

“But those people… Him- He-” Mingi seizes up momentarily bracing himself to hold in a cry. After the moment passes, he picks up, “He was so- so scared. Terrified, just- just howling and that bot it just-” His voice shudders. “It just plucked him off of the sidewalk like- like litter. Like it was disposing of trash.

 

“I- I mean- how could they- they-” The Venusian throws his hands up, “We- we always thought of the Coalition as a nuisance. As- as just a pain in the ass, someone we played nice with so we didn’t have to deal with them, but- but I had no idea-”

 

Yunho tries to reassure the other, “It’s fine-” He can feel the air thickening, somber tension radiating off of the other.

 

“Yunho, I had no idea that- that they did-” He gestures vaguely, “That. I- I just can’t believe.”

 

“You were busy living your life on your own planet. Lots of people don’t know what goes on across the galaxy, it’s okay. Our own homes and lives occupy us enough-”

 

“They just kill people on sight,” Mingi sniffles loudly. “People who- who have no say, no due process. Wh- H-How is that okay?”

 

“It’s… It’s not okay, but-”

 

“And what have we done,” The Venusian points to himself. “These- these people have no resources, but we have everything. Yet I- I didn’t even know- I-”

 

“Mingi, calm down.”

 

“We have all the power to help these people- Or- or those people Above they-”

 

“Mingi, it’s not the simple, you know that.”

 

“I- I know, but- but- I just- I just watched- well, I heard. Hongjoong covered my eyes,” Mingi huffs wryly. “Like I couldn’t put two and two together.” He wrings a hand through his hair.

 

Dread claws at Yunho’s heart. It bores a deep chasm, dragging him down as he gnaws on the question at his mind’s forefront.

 

“Do you… Do you wanna go home?” He asks in a small voice. He’s not sure how, but they could surely find a way to manage. The canis more than anyone adores the other’s presence. But it’s not worth the cost of his happiness. Nothing is.

 

Mingi nods, “Sorry, sorry. This is- I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t even-”

 

“Why are you apologizing? There is nothing to be sorry for,” Yunho has to stop himself for laughing at that. Must be a prince thing, he thinks. People like that carry nations on their shoulders, they probably take everything to heart.

 

The Venusian turns to look the canis in the eye, expression one of pure dejection, “I- I see one-  _ one _ bad thing and now I’m…” He trails off, blinking wetness out of his eyes, “I’m like this.”

 

“Wh- Whoa. Hey, what do you mean? You think I’m gonna judge you for being upset after what we saw?”

 

“I don’t see anyone else crying into a cup of tea at three in the morning.”

 

“Everyone handles things differently. I… I can’t promise we won’t see something like that again. I don’t know what we’ll see in the future, but I have a feeling it’s gonna be dangerous. And- and if you-”

 

“No,” Mingi interrupts him insistently. Fire lights anew behind his gaze, and they bore into Yunho’s, stubborn. “No I can’t go home. Not now. Not after I’ve- I’ve just scratched the surface.”

 

“But, Mingi-”

 

“Y-Yeah it was horrific and scary- shit- everything scares me, but That’s why I have to see more. I  _ need _ to know what it’s like out there, even if it’s despicable,” The thickness clears from his husky voice the more he speaks. “Even if it makes me sick or- or makes me want to cry. How can I help people if I don’t understand their challenges?”

 

Now  _ that _ \- Yunho realizes - that’s a true noble. Many people in power call on others to recount information to them. They might read articles or academic journals or even send out little worker bees to gather data for them. Seldom do they assert on going into the fray themselves. Mingi calls himself a coward, but his stubbornness, his insistence on experiencing things for himself, on exploring the scary unknown, that’s brave. That’s noble.

 

_ That _ is Prince Song Mingi of Neith.

 

Yunho doesn’t know quite what to say to that. He’s sort of overwhelmed by the other’s presence, like a strong aura is just resonating off of him. He went from small and despondent to mighty, regal, even imposing. The feeling sweeps over Yunho without warning, and he has to pause for a second to let it process. When he comes to, he feels the heat prickling in his cheeks. It’s too dark for his flush to be noticeable, thankfully.

 

Instead of speaking, Yunho gently grabs Mingi’s wrist and places it atop his head. The (not)prince raises his brows in inquiry, to which Yunho answers bluntly:

 

“Stress relief.”

 

Mingi blinks confusedly a few times before getting the idea. His lips (finally) quirk a bit, forming a dwarf version of that beautiful, beaming smile Yunho loves. The Venusian cards his long fingers through the canis’s wavy locks. A contented sigh leaves his lips as he strokes the canis idly.

 

Yunho melts at the sensation. His eyes flutter closed, and his body immediately relaxes. How can something so simple feel so wonderful? Mingi gently scratches Yunho’s scalp, interspersing quick, scratchy passes with long, languorous strokes. Warmth slurries in the canis’s gut as he surrenders more and more, burying his face in the Venusian’s shoulder (to give him more leverage, of  _ course _ ).

 

He swears, his intentions had been nothing but pure. Really. He just wanted to cheer Mingi up. Sure, there happens to be a tiny,  _ microscopic _ hint of self indulgence. That’s just pure coincidence, though! It’s not like Yunho makes Mingi enjoy petting him. The arrangement just happens to be highly beneficial to both parties involved. Mingi is sad, and Yunho wants him to be happy.

 

Except, as time goes on in comfortable silence, all of those humanitarian thoughts dissolve. They’re burned away by the pleasant warmth licking at his insides. He stops thinking about comforting Mingi and starts thinking about the way his heart beats twice as fast around the Venusian. About how pretty his long fingers are, and how nice they feel caressing his scalp and nape.

 

Yunho’s hand on the other’s waist slackens a bit, sliding down to his hip unintentionally. His entire body does that - trades out tension for gratification. Mingi’s hand wanders down his head to his nape, then to his shoulderblades. He lightly massages the muscle under the canis’s tee as his hand descends slowly. 

 

God, how Yunho wants those hands to move more boldly - to dip beneath fabric and explore. He wonders what the other’s thinking. Is he thinking about anything at all? Or is he just mindlessly petting, zoned out?

 

Does he even notice what a few gentle touches does to Yunho?

 

Mingi gradually walks his fingers back up Yunho’s spine, and the canis has to suppress a shiver. The Venusian scratches along the other’s nape again before abruptly taking hold of the other’s earlobe.

 

A tiny gasp leaves the canis’s lips. He practically jumps at the sensation. It sends a sharp stab of pleasure straight to his abdomen, making him squirm. The Venusian makes no indication of noticing. He doesn’t let up or even pause. No, his fingers persist, tenderly rubbing the other’s earlobe between his thumb and index finger like it’s his damn job.

 

Yunho isn’t sure how to feel. Pathetic maybe. Ashamed? He finds himself being slowly undone by a barely-massage and his ear being rubbed. Mingi is beautiful - more than he knows. He’s bright and effervescent and of all people in the universe he’s treating  _ Jeong Yunho _ with care, with kindness.

 

“You feel warm,” Mingi remarks, his voice a whisper. 

 

Yunho thinks: probably because I feel like I’m submerged in molten lava. He doesn’t say that, though. Does Mingi really not know? Can he not tell the effect he has on the canis? He does have an air of naivety about him, but sometimes his innocent exterior completely disappears. Yunho recalls the first time they’d met. There was a moment - just a moment - in which the canis thought that maybe, just  _ maybe _ , Prince Mingi desired more than just pleasant conversation.

 

“My body temperature is higher than most humans,” Yunho mutters an excuse in response. He keeps his head planted on Mingi’s shoulder, too afraid to look at him - even in the dark.

 

“Ahh,” The Venusian replies softly.

 

Quiet emerges between the two again, and Mingi continues to pet the other idly - head, neck, shoulders. Yunho tries - really tries - to not enjoy it too much. He bites down on his lip to stop any stupid noises that might leak out and clasps his free hand in his lap. He manages to be simultaneously floating on cloud nine and profoundly anxious at the same time. He’s enjoying himself, but is terrified that the other will notice just how much he is. He wants to play it cool, to just be the friendly, reliable pilot; the friendly, reliable, desirable pilot who’s totally aloof and does not get unwound by scalp massages and little caresses.

 

Man, crushes suck.

 

Yunho considers himself fairly levelheaded. He’s not exactly phlegmatic, but he remains consistently calm - in his own way. Except when he’s in the presence of Song Mingi. It’s a whip-whirling alternation between swooning, drooling, fantasizing, feeling ashamed and trying to be not so transparent about his massive infatuation. The guy basically puts him in a state of constant crisis by just breathing in the vicinity. 

 

On the other side, Mingi always seems so nonchalant. Nothing phases him, nothing affects him. He regards Yunho with just about the same mirth as everyone else. Sure they’re a little closer - the two typically operate on the same wavelength. They’re like minded, and they met first, after all. But that doesn’t mean Mingi returns Yunho’s feelings.

 

The canis could spend hours just theorycrafting and attempting to read the other’s mind. But he knows he really ought to stop. He urges himself not to. It’s late. He needs to go back to bed - Mingi, too.

 

But… 

 

It feels so good. Yunho’s brain goes back and forth, doing flips and somersaults trying to figure out where to go. Can he say like this forever? Probably not, as much as he’d like to. His brain whirls and whirs, failing to form concrete thoughts due to the other’s tender ministrations.

 

“We should... Go to bed,” It’s Mingi who makes that executive decision out loud. 

 

“M-Mhm,” Yunho grunts but doesn’t so move. He’s comfy. For someone so bony, Mingi’s really cozy.

 

“Y-Yeah, we should…” Mingi trails off, his hand running down the canis’s scalp yet again. He’s not even sold on the idea of going to bed - if his actions are indicative. In spite of what he’d said, he makes no move to stand up. He just keeps on petting the canis, feeding the well of heat glimmering in Yunho’s chest and stomach. His fingers close around the pilot’s earlobe again, stroking circles.

 

“Mn-” A hushed whimper leaps out of Yunho’s throat before he can stop it. Fuck. He wants to die of shame. He makes a mental note to do that, to just off himself - because that’d be easier than facing Mingi after, well, that. However, his little plan has to wait; he’s too busy bracing himself, pressing crescents into his palms with his nails to vent the feeling coming over him. The sensation paralyzes him. He sits in place like a statue, just waiting for something. For either the wriggling warmth in his tummy to cease or for Mingi to stop.

 

“So cute,” Mingi whispers. “Your tail…”

 

It’s wagging, isn’t it?

 

Yunho doesn’t bother to look. He can feel it - now that it’s mentioned. It waggles rapidly. The fucker. 

 

He feels like he ought to respond, but how? Maybe a thank you is in order. But something about that feels off. That was a compliment, but not one meant to be returned with thanks - Yunho thinks.

 

“You really like it when I do this, don’t you?” Mingi asks and - is his voice husky? Well, it is naturally, Yunho tells himself. But it sounds even more deep and thick than usual. He prays he’s not hallucinating that. 

 

Still, he can’t muster an answer. The truth is both jarringly obvious and pathetic. Yunho decides that if he keeps his head firmly planted on the other’s shoulder, Mingi will never have to see his teeth digging into his lower lip. 

 

“Seems like you’re feeling a little better,” Yunho finally chokes out, hoping his voice is level. “We should go to bed.” As much as he’s enjoying whatever this is, Yunho figures he ought to stop it. Be careful. Stop before he inevitably throws himself at the other. Protect himself from humiliation.

 

“That’s a great idea,” Mingi’s voice is still quiet, but it lifts slightly. He must be tired. “I think I’d feel a lot safer with you sleeping by my side!”

 

He must be  _ really _ tired.

  
“Huh- What?” The spell is broken, and Yunho’s too shocked to use any semblance of tact when he sits up. His jaw drops with baffled shock. Seriously, what is  _ with _ Venusian logic?

 

Mingi, sensing Yunho’s puzzlement, falters a bit and frowns, “O-Oh you- you said we- you didn’t mean…”

 

“Uh-” Now Yunho feels bad. He made Mingi sad - that is the opposite of what he’d set out to do. It’s like their entire pseudo-sexual tryst was for naught.

 

“I just-” Mingi wrings a hand sheepishly through his hair. “I saw- Wooyoung and San do it and-” His voice shrinks with every word, “-it um- they seemed- it looked… Grounding?”

 

Grounding?

 

_ Grounding? _

 

“Well, okay,” Wait.  _ What _ ? Yunho asks himself:  _ why _ did you say that? Why did you say that? He just signed himself up for a night of severe, intense frustration. His brain goes into overdrive asking all kinds of questions: does Mingi like being the big spoon or the little spoon? Will the tail bother the Venusian? 

 

“Wait- really?”

 

“Uh, yeah. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve laid next to you on a bed,” Yunho forces out a chuckle, referring to their first meeting.

 

“Th-Thank you,” Even Mingi sounds surprised at the outcome of the entire thing.

 

Oh god, Yunho thinks, what have I done?

 

Just as he’s ready to backpedal, Mingi grins at him. It’s his full, beaming, thousand-watt, heart-melting smile. The one Yunho hasn’t seen all day.

 

God dammit.

 

“Let’s clear our dishes and get some rest,” Mingi hops up and grabs Yunho by the wrist. 

 

The turn of events completely and utterly confounds the canis, but it’s too late to go back now. He figures there’s worse ways to spend a night than in the company of (not Prince) Song Mingi. The prospect both elates and terrifies Yunho. He’s pretty sure that it’s getting inflated in his head and that nothing will happen at all. However, worst-case-scenarios keep popping up in his head as the other rinses off their mugs and leads him to his bedroom with a smile on his face.

 

They start with a sort of unspoken boundary between them - a few centimeters of space. That changes quick, though. In not even fifteen minutes, Mingi’s got an arm slung over Yunho, and Yunho’s heart decides to take a battering ram to his chest. When he’s confident Mingi is knocked out, the canis relaxes a little more. His eyelids feel heavy, and eventually he’s lulled into a peaceful sleep.

 

* * *

 

“So that’s it, huh?” Hongjoong asks Yeosang. The captain had just barely finished his first cup of coffee when Yeosang begged him to come to the bridge. Yunho, Wooyoung and Jongho joined, making for an impromptu party first thing in the morning. Jongho looks to be in a similar state to the captain - half alive with fluffy hair and puffy cheeks. Yeosang is very awake and eager, alarmingly so. Joong wonders if something about his cybernetic augments make him require less sleep (or if he’s just a morning person).

 

Yeosang nods, mischievous grin on his lips, “Yup.”

 

Shortly after waking - per their agreement to help Yeosang - Yunho had been roused to steer the ship according to the cyborg’s instructions. After all, Joong  _ did _ promise to help the guy do an errand of sorts.

 

“You sure this won’t backfire on the people who live here?” Jongho asks, punctuating the inquiry with a yawn.

 

Yeo shakes his head, “With how I’ve set it things up, I think it’ll be clear who’s responsible.”

 

A dozen or so meters away stands a shiny, white building. A few bots mill in and out through a gate, but aside from that the operation appears completely automated. The warehouse-like structure contrasts staggeringly with its neighboring buildings. Unlike those Joong had come to know as part of BH’s lower levels, this one is pristine. Text stencilled neatly on its side reads: “Sub-Sector D Patrol Charging Station.”

 

“Quick- What time is it?” Yunho asks from one of the chairs, swiveling lazily.

 

“Oh- It’s almost time!” Yeosang waves to Joong, Wooyoung and Jongho, ushering them closer. “Oh- Oh- Here-” He scuttles over to the pilot’s console and brings up a screen. After a few keystrokes, he prompts a counter to project above the pilot’s PC.

 

It starts, large, clear text projecting: “10…”

 

“Wh- Oh shit-” Wooyoung gasps, clamoring for a spot as close to the viewing window as possible.

 

“9…”

 

“Wait- I’m the captain,” Joong squeezes between Yeosang in the other pilot’s seat and Wooyoung. “I need the best seat.”

 

“8…”

 

“What? No fair- Yunho, you’re too tall,” Jongho pouts.

 

“7…”

 

“Wait-” Yunho says, “Should I cover my ears?”

 

“6…”

 

“Or our eyes?” Wooyoung adds. “What about our eyes-?”

 

“5…”

 

“You’ll be fine,” Yeosang replies with a smile. He looks thrilled.

 

“Fuck- Five seconds-!” Wooyoung claps, “We should all count down.”

 

“4…”

 

“Four!” The (awake) crew hollers in tandem with the PC’s robotic tone.

 

“3…”

 

“Three-!”

 

“2…”

 

“Two-!” “Oh my god- is it really gonna happen?” “Is- Is this a good idea. I’m starting to wonder…”

 

“1…”

 

“One!” “Oh shit- One!” “Brace yourselves!”

 

The five of them all lean as far forward over the pilot’s console as they can. No doubt they’d press their faces against the glass of the viewing window if they could. They wait eagerly as the final passing milleseconds race toward zero.

 

_ “Booooom!” _ Bright, dazzling light fills the bridge, and the crew lets out a chorus of “oooh”s and “ahhh”s. 

 

_ “Booom- bang!! Bang-! Boooom-!!” “BOOOOM!!” _ Explosion after explosion detonates in the charging station - home to hundreds of those disgusting patrol bots. (And their tiny fucking hats.)

 

_ “BOOM!” “Boom-boom- booooom!!”  _

 

“Oh, that was a good one,” Jongho snarks with a chuckle.

 

_ “Bang-!” “Booooom!!” _

 

“Damn, Yeosang,” Wooyoung comments in awe, flares of light illuminating his face in flashes. “Remind me to never cross you.”

 

“Oh, this is nothing, really,” Yeosang keens, taking Wooyoung’s awed fear as a compliment, apparently. “It’s a minor setback for them, at best. But, hell,” He shrugs, “I’m petty.”

 

_ “BOOOOM-!!” “Bang-bang- boom- baang-!” “Screeeee-! Screeee-!” _

 

“Ah,  _ there’s _ the sirens,” Hongjoong remarks with a grin.

 

The five of them contently chatter and watch hellfire erupt both outside and within the Subsector’s patrol station. Serves them right. Even though Yeosang’s right - it’s a minor setback at most - it’s still a middle finger to the bastards who thought they could just kill without consequence. Hongjoong doesn’t know who’s truly to blame - the rich folks from Above? The Coalition? Both? He doesn’t care. It’s wrong, and these creepy floating globes are the ones carrying out the shitty orders. Taking them out, even if only for a day, is his fucking pleasure. 

 

That’s all people like them can do, really: take things day by day. One day without a Coalition patrol means one day where lives aren’t needlessly taken. It’s only one, but that’s one less than it would be otherwise. It’s another shot at life, a short promise that patrols won’t take any lives today. 

 

There’s something captivating about watching a ton of consecutive explosions. It’s like a crass, bastard version of a fireworks show. The captain finds it weirdly fitting of them. Explosives are loud, boisterous, wholly indecent and generally frowned upon. Sort of like them.

 

_ “Bang!!” “Booom-! Booom!” “...Boom. Booom. Booom…” _

 

Almost the entire building is alight when the sounds finally start fading. Hongjoong sighs. He’s so sad that it’s over. Wooyoung and Jongho break out into applause (which prompts Yeosang to take an embarrassed bow). 

 

“Do you see it?” “I think I see it-” “Oh- Oh shit-” “The smoke is clearing…” The crowd chatters, their attention yet again drawn to the Charging Station. Hongjoong follows the others’ gazes, and squints. Fire licks at the side of the building, and dark smoke billows out from every possible outlet. The shifting air consequently obscures almost the entire lot.

 

“Yunho,” Yeosang says, “Get us a little higher, and steer us closer, please.” He smiles.

 

Yunho obliges until they’re directly above the station. That’s when they finally see it. Jongho gasps, and Wooyoung laughs. Yunho grins widely while Yeo wears a small, satisfied smile.

 

Hongjoong beams ear to ear.

 

Blazing with fire, five letters burn on the street just in front of the station:

 

“ATEEZ”

 

From ground-level, it probably looks like nothing. Hongjoong wonders how long it’ll take them to notice.  _ If _ they’ll notice. Not like he intends on sticking around long enough to find out. 

 

Hongjoong believes in peace, for the most part. He’s not big on collateral damage- certainly not on arson or terrorism, but this… This is a special case, and seeing their calling card emblazoned in front of the patrol station like a giant, flaming middle finger gives him warm, fuzzy feelings.

 

“Yunho, how long will it take for us to reach our next destination?” Hongjoong asks.

 

His experience at BH has been interesting, to say the least. Some bad, some good, some devastating. Meeting Yeosang made it entirely worth it, though - and he still hasn’t managed to completely process Captain Maddox’s captain’s log. He kept asking his crew if they remember it, if they’d seen it, afraid that he’d hallucinated or dreamed up the damn thing. 

 

In spite of all the fun they’ve had, it’s time to move on.

 

“Um, with our fuel levels we shouldn’t do the long jump so, give it a week or so?”

 

“That’s fine. We can all settle in. Set the course,” Hongjoong commands.

 

Yunho returns with a grin and a wag of his tail, “Yes, sir.”

 

Hongjoong turns to Yeosang, asking in a softer tone,“You ready to say goodbye?”

 

Yeosang presses his lips together and nods, “Think so.”

 

Joong reaches out to squeeze the cyborg’s shoulder reassuringly, “Don’t worry, too much, alright? We’ve got your back. You’re one of us, now.”

 

The cyborg places his hand atop the captain’s and squeezes. He inspects the captain up and down, and his mechanical eyes rest on Joong’s face for a moment. It’s like he’s assessing Hongjoong. The captain half feels like he’s being scanned again. Yeosang doesn’t look at him for long, but it feels like it. The weight of his gaze is heavy. He just. Stares.

 

“Th-Thank you- sorry, I- zoned,” Yeosang withdraws his hand and looks down shyly.

 

“It’s fine. You had an early morning. You should get some rest.”

 

“You, too,” Yeosang replies.

 

“Me? Rest?” Hongjoong laughs. “No, no, no, I can’t.” He glances at the Compass fondly.

 

How could he possibly rest knowing that, for the first time, the Compass has given him a solid, definitive place to be?

 

It’s weird.

 

Hongjoong has had the Compass for awhile now. He’s been guided to a few places, met some interesting people and even taken them in. All of this accomplished by following the Compass. 

 

Yet, it’s  _ now _ that he feels like his journey has truly begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // my writing Brand™ is having zero self control and writing between the hours of 3 and 4 in the morning

**Author's Note:**

> // [to the tune of that song from The Lorax] How ba-a-a-a-ad can it be?


End file.
